THE 


John  M.  Webb 
Library 


Presented  to 

TRINITY  COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

By  Mrs.  John  M.  Webb 
1917 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION 


EMBRACING  THE 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  VOCALIZATION, 


ILLUSTRATIONS  AND  EXERCISES  FOR  DRILL 

IN  ALL  THE  ARTS  OF  READING 

AND  DECLAMATION. 


By  Prof.  C.  P.  BRONSON,  A.M.,  M.  D. 


Edited  bt  LAURA  M.  BRONSON. 


i/  ^  0^^  ^ 


LOUISVILLE: 
JOHN   P.  MORTON   AND   COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS. 


2o2.t 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  18V3,  by 

JOHN  P.  MOKTON  AND  COMPANY, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress   at  Washington,  D.  C. 


EtECTROTYPED  BT 

ROBERT  ROWELL, 

LOUISVILLE,  KY. 


TO    THE   PUBLIC. 


The  veteran  and  well-known  elocutionist,  Professor  Bronson, 
left  at  his  death  a  large  quantity  of  manuscript,  embracing  matter 
on  all  the  principles  involved  in  voice-culture,  reading,  and  speak- 
ing. It  was  found,  upon  examination,  that  much  condensation 
and  arrangement  of  these  papers  were  necessary.  This  has  been 
a  labor  requiring  time,  care,  and  experience.  The  result  is  now 
before  the  public. 

The  pieces  selected  for  readings,  with  the  emphatic  words 
and  rhetorical  pauses  indicated,  are  culled  from  a  large  quantity 
thus  prepared  by  him.  Any  person  who  attempts  to  describe 
accurately  an  action  or  vibratory  movement  of  body  or  limb,  in 
writing,  will  realize  to  a  small  extent  the  difficulty  an  author 
experiences  in  attempting  to  convey  on  paper,  in  a  comprehensible 
manner,  an  idea  of  the  tones  of  the  human  voice — its  force,  its 
melody,  its  multiplicity  of  shades  and  intonations.  It  is  some- 
thing like  an  attempt  to  cage  the  wind.  As  the  dancing-master 
can  show  by  one  movement  of  his  foot  what  he  could  not  fully 
explain  in  a  dozen  pages  of  a  treatise,  s*o  the  elocutionist  in  a  few 
spoken  words,  or  waves  of  voice,  can  elucidate  a  principle  which 
many  pages  of  printed  matter  could  not  make  clear  to  the  mind 
of  his  pupil. 

And  yet  the  necessity  for  the  treatise  remains — a  Manual  of 
Principles  is  demanded  as  a  text-book  for  both  teacher  and  pupil. 


4  TO  THE  PUBLIC. 

To  meet  in  some  degree  this  demand  these  essays  and  principles 
are  given  to  the  public,  with  the  natural  wish  of  any  one  who 
takes  charge  of  a  work  of  this  character  that,  instead  of  being  a 
mute,  it  had  a  voice  and  could  speak. 

However  irrelevant  may  appear  to  the  novitiate  some  of  the 
things  suggested  in  this  book  as  useful  for-  practice,  he  may  be 
assured  that  the  experience  of  the  author  during  almost  a  life- 
time of  teaching  has  found  them  not  only  necessary,  but  fruitful 
of  good  results;  and  nothing  but  what  has  been  proved  to  be 
altogether  essential  has  found  place  in  this  work. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 
Heading — Breath — Speech — Air — Manner  of  Breathing 11 

CHAPTER   II. 

Laughing  —  Breath  and  VoicE-sotrNDS — Practice  for  expulsion  of 
Breath — Sighing 1-t 

CHAPTER  III. 

The  Philosophy  of  Vocalization — The  Larynx — The  Voice — Speech — 
Language — The  Alphabet — Three  distinct  Classes  of  Letters...  18 

CHAPTER   IV. 

The  Vowels — The  English  Alphabet — Vowels  and  Aspirates — Vibra- 
tions of  Atmosphere  in  Speaking  and  Singing — Vowel-sounds  the 
motive  power  of  Speech 23 

CHAPTER  V. 

Vocal  Gymnastics — Exercises  in  Accent  and  Emphasis — Sounds  of  the 
Letter  A 26 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Vocal  Gymnastics,  continued — Sounds  of  E;  Sounds  of  I;  Sounds  of  O; 
Sounds  of  [/^—Quantity  and  Quality 31 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Pitch  of  the  Voice  —  Diatonic  Scale  —  Scale  or  Ladder  for  the 
Voice 35 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Elements  of  Speech — Exercises  in  Articulation — Table  of  Aspirates—^ 
Aspirates  and  Subvowels — Table  of  Subvowels 40 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Aspirates — Manner  of  forming  Aspirates — Sounds  of  C;  F;  H;  P;  Q; 
S;  Z,   K;  T. 43 

(5) 


6  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  X. 

Aspirates,  contintted — B;  D;  G ;  J;  L;  M;  N;  R;  V;  W;  X— Digraphs: 
ch,  sh,  gh,  ph,  th,  wh 48 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Articulation — Gymnastics  of  the  Voice — Exercises  for  Running  the 
Gauntlet — The  "Leader"  Exercise 52 

CHAPTER   XII. 
Accent — Inflection — Emphasis — Cadence 57 

CHAPTER   XIII. 

The  Circumflex,  or  "Wave — Emphasis — Stress  and  Quantity — Rhetor- 
ical Pauses 66 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Climax — Deep  Breathing — Air — Stammering 81 

CHAPTER   XV. 

Pitch  —  The  Orotund  Voice  —  The  Ealsetto  —  The  Conversational 
Voice — The  Grave  Voice — The  Tremolo — The  Whisper — Various 
Movements  of  Voice 93 

CHAPTER   XVI. 

Modulation — Delivery  —  Examples  in  various  Styles:  Tenderness; 
Rapid,  Light,  and  Brilliant;  Awful;  Threatening;  Revenge; 
Scorn;  Disgust  and  Contempt;  Sarcasm;  Remorse  and  Humilia- 
tion; Contrition  and  Doubt;  Fear;  Love;  Sorrow  and  Grief; 
Horror  and  Agony 102 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Exercise  in  Rapid  and  Parenthetical  Movements  of  Voice — Echo — 
How  to  give  Imitations — Examples 122 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 

The  Reverential  Style  —  True  Emphasis  —  Name  of  the  Deity  — 
Exercises 152 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Gesture  and  Deportment — Arbitrary  Rules — Pantomime— Necessity 
OF  Gesture  —  Faults  of  Orators  —  Grace  and  Dignity  —  Study  of 
the  Passions — Observations  of  Nature — Selections 173 


CONTENTS. 


SELECTIONS   FOR   READING. 

Belial's  Speech  against  the  War  with  Heaven... 3fi ton 113 

Ship  on  Fire 115 

Mother  and  Poet Mrs.  Browning 116 

The  Rum  Maniac Allison 118 

Soliloquy  of  the  Dying  Alchemist N.  P.  Willis 119 

"No" Eliza  Cook 124 

The  Red  Hunters,  or  Prairie  on  Fire M.  V.  Fuller 126 

Bugle  Song Tentiyson 127 

The  Long  Expected:  True  Love  Never  'Lost....Masserf 128 

Love,  or  How  I  won  my  Genevieve Coleridge 130 

Edward  Gray Tennyson 132 

Address  to  the  Ocean Byron 133 

The  Ocean Fanny  Green 13-5 

The  Alps Willis  Gaylord  Clark 135 

The  Celestial  Army T.  Buchanan  Read...-. 136 

The  Ursa  Major H.  Ware,  Jr 137 

Paradise  and  the  Peri Moore 140 

Battle  of  Bunker  Hill F.  S.  Cozzens 143 

Ode  to  Eloquence 145 

The  Marseilles  Hymn De  L'Isle 147 

Columbia Timothy  Divight 148 

Herve  Riel Robert  Browning 149 

Sennacherib's  Ruin Isaiah  xxxvi,  xxxvii 155 

Paul  at  Cesarea Actsxxv 150 

Paul  before  Agrippa Actsxxvi 157 

Destruction  of  Sennacherib Byron 159 

The  Constancy  of  the  Jews  in  Captivity Psalm  cxxxvii 159 

Confidence  in  God's  Care Psalm  xxiii 160 

God's  Dominion  in  the  "World Psalm  xxiv 160 

Christmas  Carol E.  H.  Sears 160 

An  Exhortation  to  Praise  God Psalm,  xcviii 161 

The  Lord's  Resurrection 162 

Creation  Proves  the  Existence  of  God L.  M.  Double 162 

The  Living  Waters .'. 163 

The  Morning  Dawns 163 

The  Heavenly  Canaan Watts 164 

Tell  me,  ye  Winged  Winds Charles  Mackay 164 

The  Excellence  of  God's  Law Psalm  xix 165 

My  Psalm John  G.  Whittier 166 

Confidence  in  God's  Protection Psalm  xxvii 167 

The  Dying  Christian  to  his  Soul 168 

Christ  in  the  Tempest '. John  G.  Whittier 168 

"Still  with  Thee" Mrs.  H.  B.  Stowe 169 

Who  by  searching  can  find  out  God? E.  Scvdder 170 

The  Leper N.  P.  Willis 170 


8  CONTENTS. 

Immortality  of  the  Soul Addison 172 

Song  of  the  Shirt Thomas  Hood 176 

Hamlet's  Advice  to  the  Players Shakespeare 178 

Moonbeams 173 

Fairy  Bells  and  Bridges 179 

The  Human  Brain 180 

The  Katydid 0.  W.  Holmes 181 

Beauty Dr.  Channing 182 

Morning  in  Spring Geo.  D.  Prentice 183 

.Lochiel's  Warning Campbell 184 

The  Prisoner  of  Chillon Byron 186 

Music liO 

Music  of  the  Ocean. '. 191 

Music  of  the  Night J.  Neal 192 

Vocal  Music 193 

The  Music  of  Childhood Jean  Ingclow 198 

A  Lady  Singing Parsons 193 

Music  of  the  Universe Frances  S.  Osgood. 194 

Peter  Pickle's  Picture,  with  Gold  Frame Planche 194 

Press  On! 196 

The  Big  Shoe Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney 197 

Clandestine  Interviews Dickens 199 

Tempest Dickens 207 

The  Announcement  of  Steerforth's  Death Dickens 215 

A  Singular  Coincidence Dickens 218 

Mr.  Pickwick  and  Mrs.  Bardell Dickens 220 

Marco  Bozzaris Halleck  228 

Poems  Unwritten Mary  H.  C.  Booth 225 

The  Angel  Post 225 

The  Pauper's  Death-bed Mrs.  Southey 226 

A  Slight  Mistake 226 

Our  Field 228 

Profanity  E.  H.  Chapin 228 

The  Pvose 228 

The  Baboon  at  Home 231 

"William  Pitt Macaulay 232 

Warwick  Castle H.  W.  Beecher 233 

A  Sabbath  at  Stratford-on-Avon 235 

The  French  Assembly  of  1792 Macaulay 236 

Dfefeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada /.  Lathrop  Motley 237 

The  Golden  City Mackay 240 

The  Wing Michelet ?.242 

The  Thunder-storm Geo.  D.  Prentice 245 

Cardinal  Wolsey's  Soliloquy Shakespeare 247 

Othello's  Apology Shakespeare 250 

Clarence's  Dream Shakespeare 253 

Romeo  and  Juliet Shakespeare 255 

Hamlet  and  his  Mother Shakespeare 259 

Lear  and  his  Daughters Shakespeare 262 


CONTENTS.  9 

Lady  Macbeth  and  her  Husband Shakespeare 273 

King  Henry  VIII Shakespeare 280 

Queen  Katharine  on  Trial Shakespeare 283 

The  Arab's  Farewell  to  his  Steed Mrs.  Norton 28tJ 

Song  of  the  World — Money-nniking Massey 288 

My  Beloved  is  all  the  World  to  me Massey 200 

God's  World  is  worth  Better  Men Massey 201 

The  Four  Eras  of  Human  Life Royeis 202 

Loch  Katrine Walter  Scott 292 

Revenge:  Foscari,  the  Doge  of  Venice Rogers 298 

The  Brides  of  Venice Foyers 298 

Dying  Gladiator Byron 301 

The  Alps  at  Daybreak Rogers .302 

Lament  of  the  Peri  for  Hinda Moore 302 

Home  Scenes  in  my  Native  Vale Rogers 303 

The  Shipwreck Byron 304 

Origin  of  Feelings,  Thoughts,  and  Acts 305 

The  Lust  of  Power Pollok 305 

Fowls  of  the  Air  and  Lilies  of  the  Field 307 

Progress  of  Life  from  Infancy  to  Old  Age 307 

Hail  to  the  Gentle  Bride Mitford 30S 

The  Last  Minstrel Walter  Scott 303 

The  Roman  Soldier Atherstone 811 

A  Winter  Sketch  and  Domestic  Scenes Hoyt 313 

Soul-longing:  its  Meaning  and  Results Lowell 315 

To  Give  is  to  Live 315 

Our  Wee  White  Rose Massey 316 

Blessings  on  Children Sini7ns 317 

True  Love  binds  Soul  and  Body 319 

The  Various  Roads  to  Fame Pollok 310 

Earthly  Reputation Pollok 320 

The  Old  Clock  on  the  Stairs Lonyfellow 321 

Earthly  Ambition  Vain Pollok 322 

Interview  between  Youth  and  Sorrow Mackay 323 

Forgive  and  Forget Tupper 324 

The  Grave  of  Franklin Waterman 325 

To-day  and  To-morrow Massey 326 

Wooed  and  Won:  The  Bliss  of  Life Massey 327 

Pictures  Hanging  on  Memory's  Wall Carey 329 

The  Last  Leaf,  or  the  Old  Man Holmes 329 

The  Christian  Euler Pollok 330 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 


CHAPTER   I. 

Readino — Breath — Speech — Air — Manner  of  Breathing. 

The  elements  and  principles  of  reading  and  speaking  have  been 
arranged  in  essays,  for  reading-lessons ;  so  that  they  can  not  by  any 
possibility  be  overlooked  or  neglected  by  either  teacher  or  pupil. 
They  constitute  the  important  part  of  the  work,  and  are  not  placed 
here  simply  to  fill  a  book. 

The  want  of  a  knowledge  of  these  principles  is  very  obvious.  It 
is  difficult  to  find  the  public  speaker  or  elocutionist  who  does  not 
exhibit  a  lack  of  proper  training  in  articulation  and  pronunciation, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  higher  and  more  elegant  graces  of  the  art  of 
delivery.  By  the  unprofessional,  particularly  the  youths  of  our  land, 
the  sowids  of  letters  are  things  not  taken  into  consideration.  But  if 
teachers  and  parents  are  ignorant,  we  should  not  chastise  the  children. 

One  of  the  most  effective  sounds  of  our  language  is  almost  entirely 
ignored  by  a  large  class  of  persons — the  r ;  and  we  could  spare  almost 
any  other  subvowel  better;  for,  when  properly  enunciated,  it  gives 
dignity  to  the  language — when  neglected,  the  result  is  weakness  and 
affectation. 

We  therefore  make  the  Elements  of  Speech  the  prominent  feature 
of  this  work. 

To  become  a  good  reader  involves  certain  conditions  which  must 
be  complied  with  or  excellence  can  not  be  achieved  in  this  art. 

The  first  condition  is  to  have  developed  a  clear,  round,  smooth 
voice ;  the  second  is  a  perfect  control  of  the  vocal  organs,  com- 
prising a  distinct  articulation  of  all  the  elements  of  sound  as  expressed 
by  the  letters  of  our  alphabet;  third,  perfect  self-possession.  "No 
man  can  serve  two  masters."  If  fear  or  distrust  of  our  powers  has 
the  control,  art  can  not  be  represented. 

(11) 


12  MANUAL  OP  ELOCUTION. 

"And  the  Lord  God  formed  man  of  the  dust  of  the  ground,  and 
breathed  into  his  nostrils  the  breath  of  life,  and  the  man  became  a 
living  soul."  How  wonderful  is  breath!  this  simple  motion  of  air; 
this  mysterious,  active  agent,  invisibly,  silently  vitalizing  and  animating 
nature — pulsations  cease  or  beat — life  comes  or  goes  on  its  wings.  With 
it  are  woven  the  sweet  words  of  affection  and  the  melodies  of  song. 

When  our  hearts  are  stirred  with  responsive  sympathies,  these  gush 
forth  in  accents  of  speech,  coined  in  tender  phrases,  borne  from 
lip  to  ear,  from  soul  to  soul,  by  this  gentle  messenger,  this  slender 
stream  of  air,  called  breath.  Let  us  reverence  it — let  it  come  to  us 
freely,  fully,  joyfully.  Yet  it  is  nothing  but  air — air  that  is  common 
every-where.  It  plays  wantonly  with  the  mighty  monarchs  of  the 
forest,  kissing  and  swaying  their  branches  with  rough  caress,  till  they 
reel  and  laugh  with  hoarse  mutterings  of  delight.  Again,  swollen  to 
the  fierce  hurricane,  it  makes  fearful  music  of  their  crashing  Umbs 
and  snapping  trunks. 

It  comes  to  us  in  the  soft  summer  morning  laden  with  the  perfume 
of  flowers ;  but  ere  it  reaches  us  it  has  kissed  a  thousand  scented  leaves. 
The  birds  soar  aloft  in  this  mysterious  ether,  pouring  their  triumphal 
songs  on  its  resonant  bosom;  and  the  butterfly  and  buzzing  insect, 
"like  winged  flowers  and  flying  gems,"  sparkle  and  shimmer  in  their 
dazzling  beauty. 

But  whether  it  brings  upon  its  waves  the  mutterings  of  the  coming 
storm,  or  the  merry,  ringing  laugh  of  childhood — the  awful  booming 
of  the  heavy  cannonade,  or  the  silvery  tones  of  the  violin — it  is  air, 
such  as  we  breathe.  Oh !  then  let  it  become  a  thing  of  joy  to  us — this 
great  motive  power,  charging  with  ceaseless  activities  the  complicated 
machinery  of  our  bodies.  Let  us  learn  to  make  it  a  thing  of  beauty, 
wreathing  embodied  thoughts  in  vocal  gems  of  purity  and  sweetness 
that  shall  gladden  the  ears  of  all  who  listen. 

Breathing, — breathing  sweet  and  strong, 
Breathing, — breathing  deep  and  long, 
Breathing  full,  and  breathing  fair, 
Breathing  naught  but  purest  air. 

Speech  is  vocalized  breath.  If  the  pupil  has  not  learned  to  breathe 
naturally,  or  through  bad  habits  has  lost  the  proper  control  of  the 
organs,  the  first  effort  must  be  to  restore  a  normal  process  of  breathing. 
No  clear,  musical  sound  can  be  given  unless  the  muscles  of  the  chest 
and  vocal  organs  are  strong  by  the  exercise  of  natural  breathing.  A 
feeble  or  imperfect  voice  is  always  disagreeable  and  sometimes  painful 
to  the  hearer. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  13 

Air,  of  which  breath  is  made,  should  be  inhaled  through  the  nose. 
Be  it  distinctly  understood  that  this  is  the  appropriate  organ  to  receive, 
warm,  and  filter  the  air  of  impurities,  adapting  it  to  the  use  of  the 
lungs.  The  nose  is  suitably  lined  with  a  material  that  catches  the 
minutest  particles  of  dust  and  all  irritating  substances,  preventing 
them  from  reaching  the  air-passages  and  lungs.  The  mouth  is  not 
thus  prepared,  because  it  has  other  specific  purposes  and  uses.  One 
of  these  is  to  keep  the  vocal  organs  moist  and  soft  for  the  act  of  talk- 
ing. The  air,  unfiltered,  as  received  through  this  channel,  deposits 
its  impurities  in  the  saliva,  drying  it,  and  causing  a  stiffness  of  the 
membranes,  producing  inflexibility  of  muscle  and  consequent  huski- 
ness  of  voice.  It  visits  the  lungs  cold  and  unclean,  forcing  the  delicate 
cells  to  receive  it  unprepared  for  their  use,  thus  effectually  sowing 
seeds  for  all  throat  and  lung  affections.  Avoid  breathing  through  the 
mouth  if  you  desire  health  and  a  sweet,  smooth-toned  vocality. 

Another  reason  why  the  air  should  be  received  through  the  nose 
is  that  by  this  effort  a  natural  motion  of  the  muscles  of  the  abdomen 
is  produced,  allowing  them  to  vibrate  with  ease;  whereas  breathing 
through  the  mouth  incites  a  gasping  effort,  producing  an  expansion 
of  the  upper  part  of  the  lungs  only,  causing  an  unnatural  elevation 
of  the  shoulders,  leaving  the  lower  part  of  the  lungs  unexpanded, 
and  consequently  unvitalized  with  air. 

Stand  erect,  resting  the  weight  of  the  body  gracefully  on  the  left 
foot;  throw  the  shoulders  and  head  back,  not  strainedly,  but  with 
sufficient  dignity  to  allow  the  diaphragm  ease  of  action;  place  the 
hands  upon  the  hips,  with  the  fingers  pressing  upon  the  abdomen, 
the  thumbs  extending  backward,  and  with  the  mouth  shut  breathe 
through  the  nose,  forcing  the  breath  down  until  the  motion  can  be 
distinctly  felt  under  the  fingers.  Let  this  practice  be  repeated  until 
this  long,  full  breathing  becomes  a  habit. 

When  we  are  sitting  at  ease,  and  not  using  the  voice,  our  breathing 
is  slow  and  regular;  but  the  more  we  exercise,  speak,  or  sing,  the 
greater  the  expenditure  of  breath,  and  consequently  the  more  fre- 
quently we  must  inhale  fresh  air.  Many  persons  fall  victims  to  a 
neglect  of  this  practice ;  and  little  there  is  in  the  present  method  of 
primary  instruction  in  reading,  in  our  schools,  calculated  to  give  any 
aid  to  proper  breathing.  Indeed,  it  is  not  considered  as  having  any 
part  in  making  good  readers  and  speakers ;  the  results  of  which  are 
many  exceedingly  bad  habits  and  unvitalized  bodies. 

We  shall  treat  more  fully  of  this  subject  when  we  come  to  Em- 
phasis, Rhetorical  expression,  and  the  Music  of  the  voice. 


14  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 


CHAPTER   11. 

Laughikg — Breath  and  Voice-sounds — Practice  for  expulsion  of 
Breath — Sighing. 

The  effort  of  laughing  is  a  valuable  gymnastic  exercise,  and  when 
moderately  indulged  in  strengthens  the  vocal  muscles,  and  much  facil- 
itates a  healthy  circulation  of  the  blood,  a  good  flow  of  genial  spirits, 
and  a  happy  disposition. 

A  good,  round,  fuU,  hearty  Sa — ha — hah  is  a  delightful  expulsion 
of  sound,  a  stout  enemy  to  the  "blue  devils,"  and  a  far  better  remedy 
for  dyspepsia  than  Graham-bread  and  tepid  milk  and  water,  with  the 
condiment  of  woeful  countenance.  So,  we  will  commence  on  the 
lowest  line,  right  heartily,  with  a 

3.  HAH,  hah,  Imh! 

2.  HAH,  hah,  hah! 


1.  HAH,  hah,  hah  I 

But  even  this  must  be  indulged  in  with  care  and  moderation  at  the 
commencement;  for  the  lungs,  diaphragm,  and  abdominal  muscles, 
which  are  obliged  to  make  strenuous  exertions  in  this  effort,  are  in 
most  persons  very  weak.  The  complete  exhaustion  of  air,  consequent 
upon  throwing  out  the  breath,  and  the  full,  strong  inhalation  that 
follows,  bring  into  requisition,  for  contraction  and  distension,  the 
entire  capacity  of  the  muscles.  Therefore  discretion  is  necessary  to 
guard  against  over-exertion  at  first.  The  unfortunate  and  hurtful 
fashions  in  clothing,  and  the  various  unnatural  habits,  have  produced 
a  weakness  of  these  organs  in  our  American  youth.  But  we  hope  to 
laugh  all  artificial  bandages  and  customs  out  of  countenance;  and 
we  even  dare  to  dream  that  the  day  will  come  when  a  sweet,  clear, 
strong,  perfectly-attuned  voice  may  be  considered  one  of  the  personal 
adornments. 

The  teacher  should  require  the  pupil  to  make  selections  from  authors, 
or  furnish  compositions  of  their  own,  where  laughing  is  introduced; 
Avhich  should  be  practiced  until  it  becomes  easy  to  give  a  seemingly 
spontaneous  laugh  whenever  required. 

Although  it  is  an  easy  matter  to  laugh  when  one  feels  like  it,  it  is 
not  so  easy  to  laugh  at  command.     Simply  repeating  the  words  ha,  ha, 


MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION.  15 

when  the  printed  letters  are  seen,  is  not  laughing.  It  will  be  well  to 
employ  the  musical  scale  in  this  and  other  exercises,  and  when  con- 
venient practice  with  the  aid  of  some  musical  instrument,  running  up 
and  down  the  scale,  giving  two  or  three  hearty  ha-hahs  on  each  note ; 
but  bear  in  mind  this  must  be  done  with  the  laughing  explosion,  not 
with  the  singing  effort.  Then  laugh  the  third,  fifth,  seventh,  and 
back  again,  gaining  all  the  varieties  of  exercises  possible. 

A  sweet,  musical  laugh  is  always  delightful  to  the  ear,  and  sun- 
shine and  gladness  follow  in  its  wake.  But  we  seldom  hear  it,  and 
so  seldom  do  we  indulge  in  this  healthful  expression  of  joy  or  merri- 
ment, when  we  do  lose  our  gravity  sufficiently  to  give  way  to  it,  it 
amounts  as  a  general  thing  to  nothing  more  than  a  well-defined  titter 
or  giggle,  which  is  disgusting  in  the  extreme.  While  the  little  events 
of  life  make  up  the  most  of  our  joys  and  sorrows,  let  us  cultivate 
those  things  that  make  ourselves  and  those  around  us  happiest,  and  at 
the  same  time  that  will  add  most  to  our  accomplishments. 

The  whimpering  exercise  also  must  receive  a  great  deal  of  practice, 
and  in  such  a  manner  as  will  produce  no  unpleasant  sensations  in  the 
throat.  The  breath  must  be  husbanded  with  great  care,  and  its 
expulsion  be  moderate  and  even,  to  enable  the  puj^il  to  acquire  the 
power  of  filling  a  large  hall  with  a  clear,  smooth  whisper.  No  fears 
need  be  entertained  that  too  much  attention  can  be  paid  to  these 
breath-sounds;  for  it  is  only  by  properly  regulated  inhalations  and 
exhalations  that  we  can  achieve  the  best  results  for  the  voice.  To 
neglect  this  important  first  step,  and  expect  to  attain  excellence, 
would  be  as  futile  as  to  attempt  to  run  before  the  strength  of  the 
limbs  had  been  tested  by  the  act  of  walking.  By  carefully  observing 
in  these  efforts  the  various  movements  of  the  muscles  and  the  position 
of  the  organs,  we  learn  what  our  resources  are. 

To  make  a  breath-sound  open  wide  the  mouth  and  breathe  out  the 
word  hah  with  as  long  and  loud  a  whisper  as  can  be  produced. 

Ha 1 1 1. h 


This  breath-sound  vocalized  is  the  material  out  of  which  all  voice- 
sounds  are  made,  both  of  speech  and  song.  We  must  conclude,  from 
our  experience  in  practicing  this  sound,  that  ha,  produced  by  simply 
opening  the  mouth  and  breathing  it  out  naturally,  is  the  radical  sound 
of  language.  We  can  not,  with  any  degree  of  safety,  declare  that 
either  the  aspirate  h  or  the  vowel  a  hold  any  such  jjosition  independ- 
ently; for  if  we  utter  a  sound  in  breathing  without  an  attempt  at 
forming  words,  it  will  partake  of  this  aspirate  and  the  vowel  a,  as 


16  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

in  ah.     Therefore  if  this  is  a  primitive  sound,  it  is  so  only  by  the 
perfect  union  of  the  aspirate  and  vowel. 

Persons  laboring  under  the  weight  of  some  great  affliction,  or 
who  are  depressed  with  sorrow,  give  expression  to  their  feelings  by 
sighing  the  sound  haJi.  Sometimes  it  is  aspirated  and  sometimes 
voiced. 

If  very  heavy  and  drowsy,  they  yawn  and  gape  out  the  Ha — ha — 
ha — ha — .  If  boisterously  merry,  they  laugh  with  explosive  force 
the  Ha-hah-hah-hah.  And  the  infuriated  wild  animal  slightly  com- 
presses the  glottis,  and  with  set  teeth  trills,  in  a  rough  growl,  over 
his  tongue  the  Ha h.  ha h. 

It  is  important  in  practicing  the  prolonged  expulsive  sounds  that 
they  be  measured  by  keeping  time.  When  several  persons  are  prac- 
ticing together  they  should  preserve  unity  by  expelling  the  sounds  on 
the  same  tone  and  in  the  same  measure.  This  can  be  done  in  any  of 
the  usual  ways,  or  by  dropping  the  finger  an  inch  for  the  first  beat, 
another  inch  for  the  second  beat ;  then  by  raising  it  one  inch  for  the 
third  beat,  and  another  for  the  fourth  one ;  occupying  a  whole,  half, 
or  quarter  of  a  second  for  each  motion,  according  to  intention  and 
desired  efiect. 

First  make  the  breath-sound  one  measure  long;  then  condense  it 
in  a  voice-sound  for  one  more  measure;  then  give  another  measure 
for  the  breath-sound;  closing  the  last  with  the  voice-sound.  The 
time  can  be  prolonged  by  an  additional  number  of  beats,  as  strength 
and  facility  in  prolongation  are  gained. 

To  acquire  the  habit  of  taking  the  quantity  of  breath  necessary, 
and  also  to  gain  the  control  over  the  muscles  of  respiration  that  will 
allow  of  making  two  prolonged  aspirate  and  two  voice-sounds  with 
one  breath,  is  attended  with  more  difficulty  than  is  supposed.  The 
experiment,  however,  will  convince  us  that  hard  work  and  persistent 
efforts  will  be  required. 

It  will  be  well  for  the  pupil  to  observe  this  distinction  of  breath 
and  vocal-sounds ;  for  herein  lies  the  secret  of  successful  elocution. 
As  before  stated,  out  of  the  breath-sounds  we  make  all  the  aspirates 
in  our  language,  and  by  converting  breath  into  voice-sound  we  make 
all  the  vowel  and  subvowel-sounds. 

Practicing  the  expulsion  of  breath,  vocalized  or  unvocalized,  in  a 
given  length  of  time  is  one  of  the  best  methods  of  gaining  that 
desired  strength,  depth,  and  clearness  of  tone  that  makes  us  masters 
of  the  voice  on  all  occasions.  Therefore  we  ask  that  practice  be  be- 
stowed on  this  sound  of  ah  until  it  can  be  obtained  prolonged,  clear, 


^[AXUAL   OF   ELOCUTIOX.  17 

and  strong  enough  to  fill  the  room.  This  exercise  must  be  repeated 
vianij  times  to  enable  us  to  make  the  sound  easily  and  musically; 
and  tiiough  we  never  use  these  prolonged  sounds  in  conversation,  they 
are  very  essential  as  vocal  gymnastics.  It  will  be  readily  inferred 
that  to  the  singer  and  public  speaker  such  exercises  are  of  incalculable 
benefit. 

The  sigh,  which  occurs  in  some  compositions,  expressive  of  great 
grief  and  despair,  when  repeated — as,  ah,  ah,  ah — should  not  be  given 
on  the  same  pitch,  but  with  a  full  expression,  in  vocalized  breath,  in 
the  minor  key,  falling  a  half  tone  on  each ;  as, 

ah— 
ah— 
ah. 

In  that  exquisite  poem  by  Mrs.  Browning,  the  "Mother  and  Poet," 
Avhich  is  full  of  broken-hearted  grief,  this  peculiar  sighing  occurs ;  and 
if  not  i^roperly  expressed  the  poem  loses  its  force. 

"Toll  his  mother.     Ah,  ah,  'his,'  'their'  mother, — not  'mine.' 
No  voice  says  '3/y  mother'  again  to  me."     .     .     . 
(Mi7ior)    "Ah — ah — ah,  when  Gaeta's  taken,  what  then? 

When  the  fair,  wicked  queen  sits  no  more  at  her  sport, 
Of  the  fire-balls  of  death  crushing  souls  out  of  men? 
When  the  guns  of  Cavalli,  with  final  retort, 
Have  cut  the  game  short?" 

Sighing  is  an  emotional  effort,  sometimes  expressing  simple  weari- 
ness, sometimes  a  lover's  passion,  but  frequently  it  is  the  utterance 
of  a  great  grief  that  does  not  express  itself  in  words.  All  of  these 
phases  should  be  studied  if  the  pupil  desires  to  give  a  full  and  satis- 
factory rendering  of  the  various  thoughts  and  emotions  Avith  which  the 
broad  field  of  literature  is  diversified.  Much  observation  and  critical 
discrimination  must  be  brought  to  bear  in  the  practice  of  elocution. 
Every  phase  of  human  feeling  should  be  studied  as  it  expresses  itself 
in  the  trials  and  experiences  of  life.  We  have  given  some  examples 
in  ah  (or  more  properly,  ha.)  We  hear  this  frequently  expressed  in 
0,  oh,  ho.  Sometimes  Ave  call  it  groaning  or  moaning.  Little  thought 
has  been  given  to  these  audible  upheavings  of  the  swelling  heart. 
0,  oh,  is  more  indicative  of  personal  pain,  the  anguish  of  self-remorse; 
while  ah,  ah,  expresses  hopeless  grief  caused  by  outside  affliction. 

"Ladi/  Marheih — Here's  the  smell  of  the  blood  still.  All  the  perfumes  of 
Arabia  will  not  sweeten  this  little  hand.     Oh!  oh!  oh! 

Doctor — What  a  sigh  is  there !     The  heart  is  sorely  charged." 

2 


18  •    MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

A  sigh,  when  it  emanates  from  the  lover's  breast,  is  expressive  of 
the  sweetest,  tenderest  sensibility.  Moore  immortalized  this  emotional 
breath  by  making  it  one  of  the  three  offerings  which  the  beautiful  and 
sorrowing  Peri  presented  at  the  gates  of  Paradise — hoping  it  Avas  the 
gift  most  dear  to  heaven  which  would  gain  her  entrance  within  its 
golden  portals.  She  watches  the  tender  devotion  of  a  beautiful  maiden, 
who  is  breathing  out  her  life  in  one  long,  loving  kiss  on  the  dead  lips 
of  her  affianced  husband. 

" '  Sleep,'  said  the  Peri,  as  softly  she  stole 

The  farewell  sigh  of  that  vanishing  soul, 

As  true — as  e'er  warmed  a  woman's  breast — 

Sleep  on,  in  visions  of  odor  rest, 

In  balmier  airs  than  ever  yet  stirr'd 

Th'  enchanted  pile  of  that  lonely  bird, 

"Who  sings  at  the  last — his  own — death — lay; 

And  in  music — and  perfume  dies  away ! ' 

Thus  saying,  from  her  lips  she  spread 

Unearthly  breathings  through  the  place, 

And  shook  her  sparkling  wreath,  and  shed 

Such  luster  o'er  each  paly  face, 

That  like  two  lovely  saints  they  seemed 

Upon  the  eve  of  doomsday  taken 

From  their  dim  graves,  in  odor  sleeping ; 

"While  that  benevolent  Peri  heardd 

Like  their  good  angel,  calmly  keeping 

Watch  o'er  them  till  their  souls  would  waken." 


CHAPTER   III. 


The  Philosophy  of  Vocalization — The  Larynx — The  Yoice — Speech — 
Language — The  Alphabet — Three  distinct  Classes  of  Letters. 

It  is  not  deemed  necessary  to  encumber  these  pages  with  engrav- 
ings exhibiting  the  anatomical  construction  of  the  vocal  and  articu- 
lating organs,  Avhile  such  are  already  within  the  reach  of  any  person 
who  will  take  the  pains  to  open  any  work  on  physiology.  Every  body 
possesses  in  perfection  the  instrument  in  which  voice-sound  is  made. 
So  wonderful  and  elaborate  is  it  in  construction,  so  delicate  in  its 
proportions,  that  for  ages  it  has  both  puzzled  and  stimulated  the 
ingenuity  of  man  to  construct  something  that  would  approximate  to 
its  tones. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 


19 


Pliysiologists  have  named  this  vocal  pipe  the  larynx,  which  forms 
a  portion  of  the  respiratory  channel,  and  is  not  three  inches  in  length 
perhaps ;  and  they  have  given  us  many  elaborate  theories  to  sustain 
their  own  ideas  as  to  what  kind  of  an  instrument  the  human  larynx 
is  like.  Aristotle  and  Galen,  and  the  older  writers  in  general,  looked 
upon  the  larynx  as  a  wind-instrument  of  the  flute  kind.  Fabricius 
was  among  the  first  to  object  to  this  view  of  the  subject. 

It  is  stated  that  about  the  commencement  of  the  last  century 
Dodart  laid  before  the  Academy  of  Sciences  of  Paris  three  memoirs 
on  the  theory  of  the  voice,  in  which  he  considered  the  larynx  to  be 
a  wind-instrument  of  the  horn  and  not  of  the  flute  kind.  Ferrein, 
in  a  communication  also  made  to  the  Academy  of  Sciences,  maintained 
that  the  larynx  is  a  stringed  instrument — each  giving  what  seemed  to 
him  plausible  arguments  to  sustain  his  theory.  At  a  later  period, 
even  to  the  present  day,  a  large  number  of  physiologists  regard  the 
larnyx  as  a  wind-instrument  of  the  reed  kind,  such  as  the  clarionet 
or  hautboy. 

We  have  given  quite  a  variety  of  opinions,  sufiicient  to  show  that 
the  larynx  is  considered  by  men  of  science  quite  a  complicated  instru- 
ment. We  shall  differ  from  them  in  one  essential  point,  which  is  that 
it  is  not  like  any  of  the  aforesaid  instruments ;  but  the  degree  of  likeness 
of  each  is  to  be  placed  on  the  instruments  that  most  fully  imitate 
the  qualities  of  the  voice;  for  the  larynx  is  the  king  of  instru- 
ments— the  grand  model,  fashioned  by  the  Divine  hand,  animated  by 
a  presiding  spirit,  stamped  with  the  seal  of  perfection,  and  which  man 
must  be  ever  content  to  imitate  without  the  hope  of  equaling.  The 
crowning  excellence  of  all  inventions  must  ever  lie  in  their  nearness 
of  approach  to  its  wonderful  capacities.  Yet  it  is  a  delicate  little 
instrument,  nicely  packed  away  out  of  sight — a  miniature  affair,  too 
common  to  be  appreciated,  because  every  person  is  in  possession 
of  one. 

Many  long  years  are  required,  and  freely  given,  to  enable  persons 
to  achieve  excellence  in  performing  on  musical  instruments,  and  many 
years  of  valuable  time  are  spent  in  acquiring  a  knowledge  of  the  dead 
languages,  and  also  to  master  the  oiihography  of  our  own — an  orthog- 
raphy which  we  might  reasonably  wish  were  dead;  while  the  ani- 
mating and  vitalizing  spirit  of  our  own  tongue — the  sweet  musical 
tones  of  speech,  the  delightful  avenue  of  expression  through  which 
the  tenderest  and  best  of  life's  joys  are  exchanged — is  neglected  and 
abused,  without  the  slightest  compunctions  of  conscience.  Had  we 
cultivated  voices,  music  would  flow  from  human  lips  in  speech  as  well . 


20  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

as  in  song,  and  the  pleasure  of  social  intercourse  would  be  enhanced 
tenfold. 

The  little  vocal  pipe  wherein  voice-sound  is  produced  forms  a 
portion  of  the  respiratory  channel,  and  its  entire  management  comes 
under  the  control  of  respiratory  and  muscular  action. 

We  inhale  air  and  exhale  breath.  We  can  do  so  for  an  indefinite 
period  of  time  and  produce  no  sound ;  but  by  volition,  so  simple  we 
are  scarcely  conscious  that  we  make  it,  this  breath  ripples  with  sound 
freighted  with  thought.  Music,  the  emotions  and  passions,  the  tones 
of  tenderness  and  love,  and  the  shrieks  of  fear,  are  borne  on  its 
invisible  wings. 

By  what  i:)rocess  is  this  achieved?  Why  do  we  make  one  breath 
without  sound  and  the  next  one  vocal  with  ideas?  How  does  it 
become  a  motive  power  of  communication  from  person  to  person? 
We  may  sit  in  a  vast  church  filled  with  human  beings — breathing 
creatures — and  a  death-like  silence  prevail.  One  single  voice  bursts 
forth  in  song  and  the  atmosphere  is  filled  with  sound,  the  whole 
superstructure  seems  alive  with  melody,  and  all  the  delicious  variety 
and  sweetness  of  tones  are  made  by  air-waves  caused  by  breath 
playing  on  the  vocal  chords. 

It  is  said  that  the  voice  is  an  effort  of  volition ;  so  it  is,  and  so  also 
are  all  the  efforts  we  make.  But  the  place  and  manner  of  producing 
voice-sounds  are  matters  of  some  importance  to  those  who  have  weak 
voices,  or  are  suffering  from  bad  management  or  loss  of  voice. 

To  explain,  in  the  simplest  manner  possible,  how  voice  is  produced, 
we  will  say  that  by  volition  the  chords  at  the  bell-like  cavity  of  the 
lorynx  contract  so  as  to  collect  and  retain  in  the  larynx  the  exhaling 
column  of  air,  and  the  expulsion  of  this  concentrated  breath  plays  on 
the  vocal  chords,  causing  their  vibration.  The  principle  is  that  of  the 
Eolian  harj).  Tlie  waves  of  air  sent  rapidly  out  through  the  mouth 
produce  a  sound  we  call  voice,  and  all  sounds  made  in  this  way 
are  denominated  voice-sounds.  Perhaps  the  nearest  thing  v.'e  can 
refer  to  toward  illustrating  the  manner  in  which  the  vocal  chords 
contract,  and  at  the  same  time  to  shoAV  the  power  which  the  con- 
centrated breath  displays  when  forced  through  a  small  aperture,  and 
its  susceptibility  of  modulation  into  a  great  variety  of  tones,  is  the 
act  of  whistling.  The  flexibility  and  contractility  of  the  lips  in  some 
persons  is  truly  wonderful,  but  of  course  not  so  much  so  as  in  the 
chords  of  the  glottis.  In  the  whistling  act  there  is  wanting  the  bell 
or  round-shaped  cavities  of  the  mouth  and  larynx  to  give  resonance 
to  the  vibrations. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  21 

It  will  be  observed  that  much  talk  is  frequently  indulged  in  about 
chest-tones  and  head-tones,  to  designate  the  grave  and  acute  sounds. 
All  this  is  simi)ly  absurd,  as  all  voice-sounds  ai-e  made  in  the  same 
place — neither  in  the  head  nor  in  the  chest,  but  in  the  glottis,  by  the 
vibrations  of  the  cJwrdoi  vocales,  before  referred  to. 

There  are  a  given  number  of  vibrations  in  each  note  of  the  scale 
or  gamut,  and  the  pitch  of  a  sound  always  depends  upon  the  number 
of  air-waves  or  vibrations  Avhich  produce  it.  These  determine  the 
tone,  and  any  variation  in  number  changes  the  pitch.  The  range  of 
voice,  in  degree  from  high  to  low,  depends  upon  the  ability  one  has 
of  contracting  and  relaxing  the  vocal  chords.  The  fewer  the  vibra- 
tions the  graver  the  sound,  and  vice  versa.  Loudness  of  voice  depends 
upon  the  extent  of  the  vibrations,  and  these  again  will  depend  alto- 
gether upon  the  quality  of  the  air  and  the  force  with  which  it  is 
driven  through  the  larynx. 

But  the  purity  of  tone  depends  upon  the  regularity  or  evenness 
of  the  air-waves.  There  is,  however,  Avhat  Ave  denominate  a  pitch  of 
voice  which  is  peculiar  to  each  one  of  us,  and  is  as  designative  as  any 
other  individual  characteristic.  Every  one  finds  that  there  is  a  range 
of  tones  on  which  it  is  easier  or  more  natural  to  speak  than  on  any 
other.  This  can  not  and  should  not  be  interfered  Avith,  although  the 
greatest  possible  range  above  and  beloAV  may  be  cultivated. 

Speech  is  made  of  a  great  variety  of  vocal  and  breath-sounds ;  and 
by  these  sounds,  joined  or  Avoven  together  into  Avords  and  sentences,  we 
couA^ey  our  thoughts  and  feelings  to  each  other.  This  aa'C  call  artificial 
language,  because  it  has  been  sanctioned  by  long  use,  and  is  agreed 
upon,  and  remains  as  yet  the  only  systematic  method  by  Avhich,  as 
liuman,  intelligent  beings,  Ave  converse  and  make  knoAvn  our  desires. 
We  also  have  symbols  of  these  sounds,  or  a  system  of  notation,  by 
Avhich  Ave  conA'^ey  all  these  thoughts,  desires,  and  emotions  by  Avhat  Ave 
denominate  written  language.  This  table  of  notation  is  Avith  us  the 
English  alphabet,  Avhose  twenty-six  letters,  as  before  stated,  are  sup- 
posed to  stand  as  symbols  or  representatives  of  the  A^arious  sounds  in 
the  English  language.  Unfortunately,  hoAVCA^er,  this  table  is  sadly 
imperfect  and  fatal  to  any  systematic  method  of  orthography  or  pro- 
nunciation. For  instance,  Ave  say  that  a  has  four  regular  sounds, 
AA'hich  is  an  utter  impossibility.  The  letter  a  could,  Avith  as  much 
truth,  stand  as  a  representative  of  the  sixteen  voAvel-sounds  as  for 
the  four  sounds  it  noAV  symbolizes.  The  broad  and  short  sound  of  a 
have  no  nearer  similarity  in  sound  to  each  other  than  they  have  to 
any  other  voAvel-sound.     This  Avaut  of  a  distinct  character  for  each 


22 


MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTIOISr. 


sound  leaves  us  entirely  without  a  basis  upon  which  to  construct  a 
system  of  pronunciation  which  would  be  orderly  and  satisfactory. 

The  eye  and  ear  need  the  same  training.  They  must  be  taught  in 
harmony,  else  the  results  will  be  imperfect.  If  the  letter  a  always 
stood  for  a  simple  sound,  having  once  learned  it,  the  eye  would  recog- 
nize it,  and  the  voice  know  at  once  what  sound  to  make.  Now  it 
must  have  some  person's  authority,  who  has  several  other  backers  of 
equal  authority ;  and  if  these  are  not  at  hand,  it  must  venture  a  guess 
of  one  sound  out  of  four,  and  run  the  gauntlet  of  ridicule  if  the  guess 
do  not  hit  upon  the  sanctioned  sound.  Perhaps  no  one  realizes  the 
painful  vexations  which  result  from  this  more  than  the  teacher  of 
elocution.  However,  we  can  only  enter  our  protest,  and  then  do  our 
best  with  the  material  we  have. 

We  will  now  return  to  the  letters,  and  divide  them  into  three  dis- 
tinct classes. 


A  has  four  regular  sounds. 

If  ame  sound,  as  in ale 

Grave  sound,  "  .  .  .  . 
Broad  sound,  "  .  .  .  . 
Short  sound,      "     .     .     .     . 


ah 

awl 

at 


E. 

E  has  two  regular  sounds. 

Long  sound,  as  in , 

Short  sound,     " 


I  has  two  regular  sounds. 

Long  sound,  as  in 

Short  sound,     " 


eel 
ell 


isle 
ill 


O. 

0  has  three  regular  sounds. 

Long  sound,  as  in old 

Close  sound,     " ooze 

Short  sound,     " on 

V. 

Uhas  three  regular  sounds. 

Long  sound,  as  in viicie 

Short  sound,     " up 

Close  sound,      " full 

Y. 

Y  has  three  sounds. 

Y  combination  of  ye,  as  in  .     .     youth 

Y  duplicate  of  I  long,  "     .     .    rhyme  . 

Y  duplicate  of  I  short,  "     .     .     hymn 


Oi,  as  in 


Diphthongs. 
.    oil  I  Ou,  as  in 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  23 


CHAPTER   IV. 

The  Vowels — The  English  Alphabet — Vowels  and  Asplrates — Vibra- 
tions OF  Atmosphere  in  Speaking  and  Singing — Vowel-sounds  the 
motive  power  of  Speech. 

The  letters  a,  e,  i,  o,  v,  y,  are  called  vowels.  These  vowels  we 
will  call  vocalized  breath-sound.  They  are  the  only  pure  voice- 
sounds  which  we  have,  and  constitute  the  musical  material  of  both 
speech  and  song,  and  are  embodied  in  all  passional  and  emotional 
expressions  of  voice.  They  are  free,  open  sounds,  the  simplest  ones 
we  make,  and  are  capable  of  great  prolongation. 

They  are  produced  in  the  larynx,  and  derive  their  character  of 
sound  by  the  position  and  shape  of  the  mouth,  tongue,  and  lips  while 
uttering  them. 

To  render  these  sounds  full,  clear,  and  pure  in  tone,  free  from 
nasal  adulterations,  and  without  running  into  a  different  voicel-sound, 
is  an  important  object  to  attain,*  one  that  requires  persistent  care  and 
practice,  and  without  which  there  can  not  be  such  a  thing  as  a  sweet 
and  musical  voice. 

This  practice  should  be  instituted  as  a  daily  exercise  until  the 
abdominal  and  respiratory  muscles  work  in  perfect  harmony  with 
the  vocal  chords,  and  all  have  gained  sufficient  strength  and  unity 
of  action  to  enable  the  pupil  to  prolong  the  sound  in  pure  and  even 
tone ;  also  to  increase  it  in  great  volume,  and  diminish  again  to  an 
almost  imperceptible  tone,  yet  preserving  the  evenness  and  uniformity 
of  the  vibrations. 

In  our  table  of  twenty-six  letters,  or  English  alphabet,  we  have 
all  the  characters  used  in  the  broad  and  almost  boundless  field  of 
English  literature.  They  also  stand  as  representatives  of  all  the 
sounds  we  use  in  speech.  It  seems  hardly  possible,  when  we  think 
of  the  many  words  spoken  and  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  volumes 
written,  that  these  twenty-six  letters  should  comprise  all  the  material 
used  in  this  great  work.  Imperfect  as  they  are,  we  may  congratulate 
ourselves  that  they  have  served  so  good  and  grand  a  purpose,  and 
that  they  have  enabled  us  to  accomplish  so  much, 

*/is  a  combination  of  ah-e.  In  making  and  prolonging  it  the  voice  must  glide  into  one 
or  the  other  of  these  sounds.    It  ought  to  be  placed  with  the  diphthongs. 


24  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

They  tell  us,  either  in  written  or  spoken  words,  all  we  know  of  the 
history  of  the  earth  on  Avhich  we  live  and  of  the  human  family ;  all 
we  have  learned  of  the  progress  of  science  and  art.  They  give  us 
the  ideal  creations  of  the  novelist  and  the  poet.  They  are  the  me- 
dium through  which  we  have  had  transmitted  to  us  the  inspirations 
of  prophets  and  seers.  And  yet  in  our  spoken  language  we  have  not 
treated  them  well,  and  we  continue  every  day  to  treat  them  not  only 
disrespectfully,  but  meanly;  for  we  deprive  them  of  the  proper  dis- 
play of  their  great  beauty  by  not  articulating  them  clearly. 

Now  it  is  important  that  all  should  become  acquainted  with  these 
little  symbols;  study  their  forms  and  proportions  as  expressed  in 
sounds,  and  learn  what  are  their  sjyecific  uses. 

The  vowels  have  a  mission  specifically  their  own.  The  subvowels 
and  asj)irates  have  quite  another. 

The  vowels  convey  the  full  voice.  All  the  vowels,  when  clearly 
and  fully  uttered,  vibrate  nothing  but  voice-sound.  They  are  used  as 
motive  power  to  convey  words  from  the  speaker  to  the  listener.  We 
might  almost  say  we  shoot  words  on  these  sounds.  We  will  take  for 
illustration  the  word  hope.  Let  us  sound  the  long  vowel  o  alone ;  then 
the  apirates  h  and  p  by  themselves;  then  unite  them,  and  we  find  the 
importance  which  is  attached  to  voice  vibrations.  If  we  articulate 
the  aspirates  by  themselves,  they  can  be  heard  but  a  few  yards  from 
us ;  but  when  uttered  in  connection  with  vowels  they  are  easily  dis- 
tinguished at  a  comparatively  great  distance. 

"Wonderful  truths,  and  manifold  as  wondrous, 
God  hath  written  in  the  stars  above; 
Eut  not  less  in  the  bright  flowers  under  us 
Stands  the  revelation  of  his  love. 

Gorgeous  flowers  in  the  sunlight  shining, 

Blossoms  flaunting  in  the  eye  of  day, 
Tremulous  leaves,  with  soft  and  silver  lining, 

Buds  that  open  only  to  decay. 

Brilliant  hopes,  all  woven  in  gorgeous  tissues, 

Flaunting  gaily  in  the  golden  light; 
Large  desires,  with  most  uncertain  issues, 

Tender  wishes  blossoming  at  night. 

Those  in  flowers  and  men  are  more  than  seeming, 
Workings  are  they  of  the  self-same  powers 

Which  the  poet,  in  no  idle  dreaming, 
Seeth  in  himself  and  in  the  flowers." 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTIOX.  25 

A  given  number  of  vibrations  make  a  particular  note  or  tone,  but 
a  forcible  continuance  of  the  tone  makes  prolongation.  Singing  can 
be  heard  fixrther  than  speaking,  fur  the  reason  that  there  is  a  greater 
prolongation  of  vowel-sounds  in  song  than  in  speech.  This  is 
philosophical.  The  atmosphere  surrounding  the  earth,  by  a  beautiful 
and  wise  provision  of  our  Creator,  is  made  of  vibratory  and  elastic 
quality,  which  renders  it  the  general  receptacle  and  medium  of  sound. 
Voice-sound  being  a  sensation  produced  by  tremulous  motion,  the 
waves  of  air  thus  continuously  agitated  convey  the  joulsations  to  the 
ear.  Therefore  the  more  forcil)le  and  continuous  these  pulsations  the 
farther  the  sound  is  conveyed.  It  is  the  rapid  and  continuous  vibra- 
tion of  the  vocal  muscles  that  produce  the  prolongation  of  sound ;  and 
the  more  even  the  pulsation  the  smoother  and  more  musical  the  tones. 

If  we  speak,  in  an  ordinary  conversational  pitch  of  voice,  the 
words  hope  or  home,  we  find  the  vibrations  of  the  vowels  are  stopped 
in  the  mouth  for  the  articulating  organs  to  form  the  letters  p  and  m ; 
but  if  we  sing  the  words,  the  vibrations  are  continued  as  long  as  we 
dwell  upon  that  particular  note.  In  singing  the  articulatory  sounds 
are  secondary  to  the  vowel  or  emotional  sounds;  while  in  speaking 
the  expression  of  thought  and  ideas  requires  the  clearly-defined  expres- 
sion of  the  constrained  aspirate  and  sub  vowel  sounds.  Therefore,  if  we 
wish  our  voices  to  penetrate  to  gi'eat  distances,  we  must  use  force  that 
will  produce  continuous  vibrations,  sufficient  to  carry  the  sound  to  the 
desired  point.  If  we  have  not  power  to  do  this,  the  sound  of  course 
must  stop  exactly  where  the  vibration  or  aii'-wave  ceases.  Let  this 
fact  be  distinctly  impressed  upon  the  minds  of  all  who  desire  to 
become  public  speakers. 

Another  fact  must  be  remembered,  which  is,  that  it  is  one  thing  to 
be  heard  and  quite  another  thing  to  be  understood.  A  speaker  may 
have  great  jDOwer  in  rolling  out  sounds,  yet  the  aspirates  and  sub- 
vowels  may  be  so  feebly  given,  or  mouthed  in  such  a  slovenly  way,  as 
to  make  the  speech  all  sound  and  no  sense.  It  is  plain  that  the  vowels 
must  receive  great  practice  in  regard  to  loudness,  to  length  of  tone,  to 
clear )i€S3  of  tone,  to  evenness  in  swelling  and  diminishing  the  same  sound, 
either  for  speaking  or  singing. 

The  vowel-sounds  are  the  basis  of  spoken  language,  and  subserve 
a  double  purpose.  They  are  not  only  the  motive  power  of  speech, 
but  express  the  musical  tones,  and  to  a  great  degree  the  affectional 
and  passional  elements.  This  will  be  readily  seen  if  we  notice  the 
utterances  of  animals  and  birds,  also  of  children  before  they  learn 
to  express  their  wants  and  desires  by  articulated  words. 


26  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Vocal  Gymnastics  —  Exercisks  ix  Accent  and  Emphasis  —  Sounds  of 

THE  Letter  A. 

Every  pupil  should  be  required  to  notice  distinctly  not  only  all  the 
specific  soumh  of  our  language,  simple  and  compound,  but  also  the 
different  and  exact  positions  of  the  vocal  organs  necessary  to  produce 
them.  The  teacher  should  unyieldingly  insist  upon  having  these 
two  things  faithfully  attended  to ;  for  success  in  elocution  and  music 
absolutely  demands  it.  No  one  therefore  should  wish  to  be  excused 
from  a  full  and  hearty  compliance.  Master  these  elementary  princi- 
ples, and  you  will  have  command  of  all  the  mediums  for  communi- 
cating your  thoughts  and  feelings. 

In  practicing  the  folloAving  vocal-sounds  the  mouth  must  be  as 
wide  open  and  the  lips  as  free  and  expanded  as  the  nature  of  the  sound 
will  allow.  The  sounds  must  be  made  pure  and  strong,  free  from  any 
nasal  taint ;  the  position  of  the  body  elevated  enough  to  permit  the 
perfect  and  harmonious  action  of  the  dorsal  and  abdominal  muscles. 

^Vhon  the  sound  is  entirely  emitted  the  mouth  must  be  closed,  and 
the  replenishing  breath  received  slowly  and  moderately  through  the 
nose.  There  must  be  no  raising  of  the  shoulders,  nor  any  kind  of 
heaving  or  motion  of  the  upper  portions  of  the  lungs ;  but  an  even 
inhalation,  that  will  contract  the  diaphragm  and  put  in  motion  the 
abdominal  muscles. 

The  pupil  in  elocution  and  music  is  strongly  urged  to  attend  to  the 
right  and  the  Avrong  method  of  producing  the  sounds  of  our  letters,  as 
well  as  in  enunciating  words.  By  all  means  make  the  effort  entirely 
below  the  diaphragm,  while  the  chest  is  comparatively  at  rest;  and 
as  you  value  health  and  hfe,  and  good  natural  speaking,  avoid  the  cruel 
practice  o^  exploding  the  sounds,  by  whomsoever  taught  or  recommended. 
The  author's  long  experience  and  practice,  with  his  sense  of  duty,  justify 
this  protest  against  that  unnatural  manner  of  coughing  oid  the  soimds, 
as  it  is  called.  Nine  tenths  of  his  hundreds  of  pupils  whom  he  has 
cured  of  the  bromhitis  have  induced  the  disease  by  this  exploding 
process,  which  ought  itself  to  be  exploded. 


MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION.  27 

Bear  constantly  in  mind  that  all  sounds  are  made  of  vibrations  of  air. 
We  will  vocalize  the  sound  of  a,  thus : 

Ha ^ h. 

We  Avill  next  produce  the  vocal-sound,  leaving  off  the  aspirate,  which 
will  give  us  the  grave  sound  of  a,  commencing  full  and  strong,  grad- 
ually diminishing  in  force   and   quantity  of  sound   until   it   ceases. 

Great  care  must  be  observed  to  make  the  a h  expulsion 

of  the  breath  even,  that  the  sound  emitted  may  be  smooth  and  pure, 
bearing  in  mind  that  converting  all  the  breath  into  sound  gives  purity 
and  sweetness ;  whereas,  if  it  is  allowed  to  escape  without  being  thus 
used,  a  husky  or  rasping  noise  will  accompany  the  voice-sound.  After 
having  repeated  a  few  times  the  example  given,  we  Avill  reverse  the 
effort;  after  which  we  will  unite  the  swell  and  diminish;  and  then 
reverse  it.  ;. . 

These  are  daily  exercises  for  the  voice ;  and  in  each  succeeding 
daily  practice  the  endeavor  should  be  to  increase  the  volume  and 
length  of  sound ;  but  caution  must  be  used,  lest  it  fatigue  the  organs 
too  much. 

For  a  second  step  in  measure,  we  will  divide  the  swell  into  half 
the  length,  the  teacher  beating  or  counting  the  time. 

"  Then  I  heard  a  strain  of  music, 

So  mighty,  so  pure,  so  dear, 
Tliat  my  very  sorrow  was  silent. 

And  my  heart  stood  still  to  hear. 
It  rose  in  harmonious  rushing 

Of  mingled  voices  and  strings. 
And  I  tenderly  laid  my  message 

On  the  music's  outspread  wings. 

And  I  heard  it  float  farther  and  fiirther, 

In  sound  more  perfect  than  speech; 
Farther  than  sight  can  follow, 

Farther  than  soul  can  reach. 
And  I  know  that  at  last  my  message 

Has  passed  through  the  golden  gate ; 
So  my  heart  is  no  longer  restless. 

And  I  am  content  to  wait." 

We  will  now  practice  on  three  notes  of  the  scale  involving  the 
diminish  and  swell.  Commence  softly  on  the  second  note,  increasing 
and  slurring  into  a  full  swell  on  the  first  note ;  gradually  diminish 
and  slur  again  to  the  second  note,  making  it  an  almost  imperceptible 
sound  ;  rise  to  the  third  note,  and  descend  in  the  same  way,  catching 
breath  at  the  diminishing  note. 


28  MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTICTST, 

To  shorten  this  vocalized  bi^eath-souncr  cut  it  up  for  the  formation 
of  words  and  syllables.  We  will  repeat  the  word  Ah  a  great  nianv 
times  in  quick  succession,  making  three  sounds  at  each  effort :  the 
first  one  very  loud,  the  second  much  fainter,  and  the  third  one  a 
mere  echo  of  the  second  :  An-a/i-ah. 

In  the  examples  just  given  we  take  the  first  step  in  forming  words. 
By  giving  stress  or  force  to  the  first  effort,  lessening  it  on  the  second, 
and  letting  the  third  receive  the  natural  diminution  of  the  sound,  we 
bring  into  use  accent.  In  this  second  unaccented  expulsion  we  get 
the  true  sound  of  ah  as  used  in  all  conditions  where  there  is  no  partic- 
ular stress  needed. 

Examples. — I  ?aw  a  man  and  a  boy  in  a  field  after  a  horse,  a  cow,  and 
a  sheep,  v.'hile  a  hawk,  a  swallow,  and  a  robin  flew  over  them  all.  Charles 
bought  a  large  and  a  small  aijple  for  a  cent  of  a  woman  who  had  a  stall  beside 
a  stream  where  a  lad  caught  a  pike,  a  roach,  and  a  trout.  Ah,  alms,  arch,  ark,- 
arms,  art,  aunt,  ardent,  argue. 

Here  is  an  illustration  of  the  manner  in  Avhich  words  are  enun- 
ciated: ART-ful-ly,  ART-Zess-ly,  ART-i-zan. 

In  these  examples  the  accent  is  on  the  first  syllable,  while  the  others 
are  merely  spoken  loud  enough  to  be  heard. 

In  the  following  examples  the  accent  is  on  the  second  syllable,  the 
first  one  being  like  the  last  sound  of  the  preceding  measure :  Ap-PLi- 
ance,  so-yo-roiis,  be-HA v-{or. 

The  accented  syllables  should  be  as  prominent  to  the  ear  as  these 
letters  are  to  the  eye. 

"Let  each  cadence  melt  in  languor 
Softly  on  my  ravished  ears, 
Till  my  half-closed  eyes  are  brimming 
With  a  rapture  of  sweet  tears. 

Summon  back  fond  recollections, 

Such  as  gentle  sounds  prolong ; 
Flights  of  memory  embalming 

In  the  amber  of  a  song." 

"Then  read  from  the  treasured  volume 
The  poem  of  thy  choice, 
And  lend  to  the  rhyme  of  the  poet 
The  beauty  of  thy  voice. 

And  the  night  shall  be  filled  with  music, 

And  the  cares  that  infest  the  day 
Shall  fold  their  tents  like  the  Arabs, 

And  as  silently  steal  away." 


ISfANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION.  29 

In  expelling  the  vowel-sounds  we  find  the  fiust  one  in  each  measure 
is  strongly  accented.  Now  this  accent  is  the  element  of  emphasis.  Let 
us  give  it  several  times,  as  heretofore,  and  increase  in  strength  and 
loudness  in  each  succeeding  effort. . 

A  as  in  ale  is  the  name  sound  of  a,  and  must  receive  the  same 
kind  and  amount  of  practice  as  the  preceding  sonnd.  Ace,  ache,  age. 
Tiiis  is  always  the  sound  of  the  article  a  when  contrasted  with  the 
word  tJie;  as,  I  said  a  man,  nottlie  man;  a  book,  not  the  book;  a  horse, 
not  the  horse ;  a  knife,  not  the  knife ;  a  star,  not  the  star. 

Now  let  us  again  expel  this  sound,  and  instead  of  making  the 
emphasis,  we  will  prolong  the  sound  equally,  as  we  did  the  first  a. 

Let  us  do  the  same,  but  give  the  swell  and  diminish  instead  of  the 
last  equal  long  sound. 

Let  us  notice  particularly  the  important  principles  here  indicated, 
which  are  the  expulsion  of  sounds,  the  accented  and  unaccented  syllables, 
the  emphasis,  and  the  measure  of  speech  and  song,  for  these  elements  are 
involved  in  every  word  and  sentence.  The  practice  of  these  different 
sounds,  according  to  examples,  is  for  drilling  and  educating  the  organs 
to  produce  the  sounds  distinctly,  clearly,  and  musically;  and,  as  these 
vowels  are  all  distinct  sounds,  not  one  should  be  neglected.  Pupils 
might  expect  as  rationally  to  perfect  themselves  in  all  the  notes  in 
the  musical  scale  by  practicing'  one  or  two  as  to  think  to  render  all 
these  sounds  correctly  by  practicing  one  or  two  of  them.  Each  one 
requires  a  different  position  of  the  organs,  and,  of  course,  exercise  on 
that  position  to  insure  strength  of  the  class  of  muscles  used. 

The  third  sound  of  A  is  broad;  and  is  so  called  because  in  making 
it  the  mouth  is,  perj^endicularly,  more  opened,  or  broader,  than  it  is 
when  we  make  other  sounds  of  the  same  letter.  This  is  shoAvn  by 
dropping  and  projecting  the  jaw,  bringing  the  corners  of  the  moutli 
nearer  together,  and  projecting  the  lips.  Awe,  all,  awl,  Al-ba-ny, 
al-be-it,  al-most,  al-ter,  al-ways,  au-burn,  au-dit,  au-ger,  au-thor, 
au-tumn,  aw-ful,  pal-frcy,  wa-ter  (not  "\vot-ter,  as  many  say.j 

"Once  the  -welcome  light  was  brolccn,  who  shall  say 
"U'hat  the  un imagined  glories  of  the  day? 
TThat  the  evil  that  shall  perish  in  its  ray? 

Aid  the  dawning,  tongue  and  pen  ; 

Aid  it,  hopes  of  honest  men ; 

Aid  it,  paper;  aid  it,  type; 

Aid  it,  for  the  hour  is  ripe, 
And  our  earnest  must  not  slacken  into  play. 
Men  of  thought  and  men  of  action,  clear  the  way!  " 


30  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

We  will  practice  these  sounds  as  before,  and  see  if  we  can  not 
improve  our  manner  of  giving  them  by  making  the  accent  and  the 
emphasis  more  prominent  and  musical:  Awe — awe — awe.  Being 
careful  to  observe  the  important  points  in  this  exercise,  let  us  repeat, 
and  give  the  long  equal  sound  instead  of  the  emphatic  one.  In 
making  all  the  long  single  sounds  we  must  keep  the  mouth  and  lips 
in  the  same  position,  from  beginning  to  end,  Avhether  we  make  them 
equal  all  the  Avay,  or  give  the  swell  and  diminish. 

The  fourth  sound  of  A  is  short,  because  we  can  not  prolong  it  at  all 
without  changing  this  peculiar  characteristic,  as  may  be  seen  by  trying 
it:  ab,  ac,  ad,  ap,  ag,  al,  am,  an,  and,  apt,  as,  ash,  asp,  at,  ab-bot, 
ac-cent,  ag-ile,  af-ter,  al-ley,  am-ple,  An-na,  ap-ple,  ar-row,  as-pen, 
ax-es,  hash,  dash,  can,  fast,  rash,  sat,  trap,  rat,  rams.  Many  incor- 
rectly tell  us  to  give  a  long,  intermediate  sound  to  this  a,  nearly  like 
the  radical  sound,  as  in  fa-ther;  but  this  is  entirely  wrong,  and  comes 
from  their  not  opening  the  mouth  properly,  and  bringing  forward  its 
corners  so  as  to  avoid  a  very  unpleasant  nasal,  whining  sound.  Thus 
they  run  from  one  extreme  into  another.  Beware  of  such  mistakes  in 
this  class  of  words — grasp,  pass,  etc. 

In  passing  from  the  radical  sound  into  a  in  all  and  ale,  and  in 
gliding  into  a  in  at,  we  see  in  the  former  case  that  there  is  a  continuous 
sound,  which  is  called  long  because  it  can  be  continued  without  altera- 
tion ;  while  in  the  latter  it  was  instantly  stopped  because  it  is  a  short 
sound,  and  never  can  be  prolonged  in  speech  without  being  altered  or 
changed  into  something  else.  Let  us  try  them  again,  and  we  shall  see 
the  marked  difference  between  long  and  short  sounds. 

To  give  the  short  sounds  of  a  in  mat,  rat,  cat,  etc.,  open  wide  the 
mouth,  project  the  under  jaw  and  lips,  and  let  them  play  freely  in 
speaking  such  words  as  7ias,  cast,  etc.  If  any  attempt  is  made  to 
prolong  this  sound  in  such  words  as  his  and  hat,  it  will  run  into  the 
sound  of  e,  as  hah-et,  hi-es.  This  short  explosive  sound  can  not  be 
made  without  a  violent  effort  of  the  abdominal  muscles. 

"  Poison  be  their  drink, 
Gall, — loorse  than  gall, — the  daintiest  meat  they  taste; 
Their  sweetest  shade  a  grove  of  cypress  trees ; 
Their  sweetest  prospects — mouldering  basalisks; 
Their  music  frightful — as  the  serpent's  hiss ; 
And  boding  screech-owls  make  the  concert  full." 

"Though  the  mills  of  God  grind  slowly,  yet  they  grind  exceeding  small; 
Though  with  patience  he  stand  waiting,  with  exactness  grinds  he  all." 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  31 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Vocal  Gymnastics,  continued — Sounds  of  E;  Sounds  of  /;  Sounds  of  0; 
Sounds  of  U — Quantity  and  Quality. 

E  has  two  regular  sounds:  first,  the  name-sound,  which  is  capable 
of  great  prolongation,  and  must  receive  practice  on  all  the  examples 
given  for  the  long  and  broad  sounds  of  a.     Eve,  east,  eel. 

The  second  sound  of  E  is  short,  because  we  can  not  prolong  it  without 
altering  it.  Ebb,  edge,  egg,  eld,  elf,  emblem,  en-ter,  ep-ic,  er-rand, 
Es-sex,  eth-ics,  er-ror,  ex-cel,  ex-cept,  ex-empt,  ex-pense,  ex-tend, 
beg,  cell,  dell,  pen,  gem,  hen,  jest,  let,  met,  net,  pet,  guess,  rent,  sell, 
test,  vest,  well,  yes,  rest.  Any  attempt  to  prolong  this  sound  will 
give  us  the  mongrel  sound  as  as  in  short  a. 

In  expelling  this  short  sound  of  e  we  must  remember  and  distin- 
guish those  important  things,  accent,  emphasis,  etc.  We  must  be 
particular  to  drop  and  project  the  jaw  a  little  in  making  this  sound. 

"  Ye  clouds  that  gorgeously  repose 
Around  the  setting  sun, 
Answer !  have  ye  a  home  for  those 
"Whose  earthly  race  is  run  ? 

The  hright  clouds  answer' d — 'We  depart, 

"We  vanish  from  the  sky; 
Ask  what  is  deathless  in  thy  heart 

For  that  which  can  not  die ! '  " 

"  Joys,  that  leap'd 
Like  angels  from  the  heart,  and  wander'd  free 
In  life's  young  morn  to  look  upon  the  flowers, 
The  poetry  of  nature,  and  to  list 
The  woven  sounds  of  breeze,  and  bird,  and  stream 
Upon  the  night  air,  have  been  stricken  down 
In  silence  to  the  dust." 

I  has  two  regular  sounds:  we  give  the  first  sound,  which  is  long,  in 
speaking  its  name.  "When  pronounced  in  full  it  is  diphthongal,  com- 
mencing with  the  sound  of  ah  and  ending  with  e.  Ice,  ides,  ire,  isle, 
i-dle,  i-ron  (i-urn),  i-o-ta,  i-vo-ry,  bide,  cite,  drive,  pine,  knife,  hide, 
mite,  nine,  pie,  ride,  site,  tile,  vile,  wine,  etc.  What  part  of  a  sound 
should  be  prolonged  ?     As  a  general  rule,  the  radical  part,  which  is 


82  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

where  the  vocal  organs  first  open  on  the  sound.  But  i  long  is  an 
exception.  Tlie  first  radical  ah  sound  glides  into  ee.  Therefore  the 
position  of  the  organs  must  change.  In  giving  this  narae-sound  of  i 
we  must  be  very  cautious  about  having  the  organs  in  the  right  position, 
'and  making  the  proper  effort  from  the  lower  muscles  before  alluded  to. 

The  second  sound  (rf lis  slioH.  If,  ill,  imp,  in,  ink,  inch,  inn,  is,  it, 
itch,  illi-cit,  im-be-cile,  in-ci-dent,  in-dis-tinct,  in-hab-it,  in-quis-i-tive, 
in-sip-id,  in-stinct,  in-di-vis-i-bility,  is-o-late ;  hid,  cid,  did,  fib,  gilt, 
hilt,  jib,  kid,  lid,  mit,  nit,  pin,  quip,  sit,  tin,  victim,  wish,  zinc. 

Let  us  remember  that  in  expelling  the  vowel-sounds  we  are  prac- 
ticing some  of  the  most  important  principles  involved  in  reading, 
speaking,  and  singing — meaaure,  accent,  and  emphasis. 

A  peculiarly  soft  sound  is  given  to  %  when  it  follows  the  hard 
guttural  sound  of  (j  and  k.  Begin  by  making  two  syllables  out  of  one, 
and  then  gradually  shorten  them  into  one  by  degrees,  speaking  them 
faster  and  faster.  Begin  thus :  gee-ide,  gee-ide,  gee-ide,  gyide ;  kee-ind, 
kee-ind,  kee-ind,  ky-ind,  kyind ;  geear-di-an ;  kyind-ness,  lov-ing- 
kyind-ness;  which  gives  us  a  very  soft  and  pleasant  sound,  both  in 
speech  and  song.  Let  us  make  our  language  as  agreeable  as  possible, 
and  we  can  produce  much  better  effects. 

"  Laughing  voices,  scraps  of  song, 
Lusty  mvisic,  loud  and  strong, 
Rustling  of  the  banners  blowing, 
Whispers  as  of  rivers  flowing, 
Whistle  of  the  hawks  wo  bore 
As  they  rise  and  as  they  soar; 
ITow  and  then  a  clash  of  drums 
As  the  rabble  louder  hums, 
Now  and  then  a  burst  of  horns 
Sounding  over  brooks  and  bourns. 
As  in  merry  guise  we  went 
Hiding  to  the  tournament.'' 

0  has  three  regular  sounds:  first,  its  name-sound,  or  long.  Make 
the  long  name-sounds  full  and  complete,  by  giving  them  plenty  of 
room.  Coal,  dole,  home,  hope,  dome,  hole,  ho-ly,  mole,  hone,  mote, 
note,  pole,  role,  sole,  stole,  whole,  whol-ly,  whole-some. 

Swell  of  voice  is  seen  when  we  begin  with  a  little  sound,  and  grad- 
ually increase  or  widen  it  as  we  give  it  continuously.  This  is  a  very 
important  practice,  but  the  sound  should  be  given  smoothly  as  it 
becomes  louder  and  longer.  We  Avill  now  expel  this  long  sound  of  o 
by  giving  the  accented,  unaccented,  and  emphatic  sounds,  as  before, 
with  the  pure  measure  of  speech  and  song.     This  is  an  excellent 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  33 

sound  to  prolong ;  but  we  must  be  sure  to  keep  the  mouth  well  opened, 
by  dropping  and  projecting  tlie  under  jaw,  protruding  the  rounded 
lips,  and  keeping  all  the  organs  in  the  same  state  till  we  complete 
the  exercise. 

In  making  the  swells  and  diminish  with  this  sound,  as  with  all  the' 
other  single  long  sounds,  we  must  not  move  any  of  the  organs,  from 
beginning  to  end,  thus  sJwviiig  the  sound,  as  it  might  be  said. 

"O  world!  O  life!  O  time! 

On  whose  last  steps  I  climb, 
Trembling  at  that  where  I  had  stood  before ; 
When  will  return  the  glory  of  your  prime? 

No  more — oh,  nevermore. 

Out  of  the  day  and  night 

A  joy  has  taken  flight; 
Fresh  Spring,  and  Summer,  and  Winter  hoar, 
Move  my  faint  heart  with  grief,  but  with  delight 

No  more — oh,  nevermore." 

TJie  second  sound  of  0  is  dose — oo;  so  called  because  the  lips. and 
internal  vocal  organs  are  brought  close  together  in  pronouncing  it ;  as 
ooze,  oo-zy,  oo-zing;  coo,  do,  fool,  roof,  soot,  tool,  moon,  loom,  cool, 
doom,  hoop,  noon,  poor,  boo-by,  cool-ing,  do-ing,  fool-ing,  pooKlle, 
goose,  soup,  tooth.  In  prolonging  equally  this  close  sound  of  o  we 
must  not  pucker  the  lips  too  much,  but  rather  turn  them  out  a  little 
all  around,  like  a  funnel. 

The  third  soxmd  of  0  is  short;  and,  like  the  other  short  soimds,  can 
not  be  prolonged.  Odd,  of,  off,  on,  or,  oz,  ob-ject,  oc-tave,  of-fer, 
om-e-let,  on-ward,  op-e-ra,  or-der,  bod-kin,  con-ceit,  cob-bler,  dol-lar, 
fol-ly,  gog-gles,  hob-by,  jol-ly,  mod-el,  non-sense,  rob-in,  yon-der, 
bot-tle,  dot-ted,  fop-pish,  gob-ble,  jock-ey,  knock-er,  lot-te-ry,  mon-u- 
ment,  non-plus,  pop-py,  wan-ton,  etc. 

In  expelling  this  short  sound  of  o,  and  giving  the  proper  accent, 
etc. ,  let  us  vocalize  all  the  breath  that  escapes,  so  as  to  prevent  un- 
pleasant sensations  in  the  throat  and  injury  to  the  sounds;  and  by 
remembering  how  we  pronounce  the  forbidding  word  to  children, 
"Och,  och,  och!  let  that  alone,"  we  shall  be  the  better  able  to  do  it. 

U  has  three  regular  soimds :  first,  its  name-sound,  because  it  is  the 
sound  we  make  in  speaking  its  name.  At  least  we  get  this  sound 
pure  in  the  word  you.  XJn-ion,  u-nique,  u-ni-son,  u-ni-ty,  u-ni-form, 
u-nit. 

When  the  name-sound  of  ii  is  at  the  beginning  of  a  word  or  syl- 
lable, it  has  a  triple  sound ;   tliat  is,  it  is  a  diphthong,  composed  of 

3 


34  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTIOlSr. 

the  consonant-sound  of  y,  and  its  own  double  or  diphthongal  sound, 
which  consists  of  short  e  and  the  full  sound  of  u.  By  drawling  out 
its  name-sound,  as  in  use,  these  three  elements  may  be  seen;  thus 
y-u-se ;  also  in  un-ion,  nat-ure,  vol-ume ;  but  when  a  consonant-sound 
goes  before  u  in  the  same  syllable,  the  sound  of  y  is  omitted.  We 
must  never  pronounce  duty,  dooty;  tune,  toon;  news,  nooz;  stew, 
stoo;  dew,  doo. 

We  shall  find  it  somewhat  difficult  at  first  to  expel  this  name- 
sound  of  u  unless  we  begin  aright.  Let  us  therefore  commence  as 
though  we  were  going  to  pronounce  short  e  and  close  o  together,  like 
eiv,  or  speak  the  word  lute,  repeating  it  several  times  rapidly,  and 
thus  leave  off  the  sound  of  I  and  t;  thus,  lute,  lute,  lute,  ute,  ute, 
ute,  ew. 

Now  we  will  prolong  this  double  sound  by  dwelling  on  the  radical 
part  of  it,  and  keeping  the  vocal  organs  in  the  same  position  as  when 
we  first  began  the  sound,  and  make  it  all  the  same  size. 

Now  let  us  make  the  swell  and  diminish  with  it,  and  be  very  careful 
to  prolong  only  the  root  of  the  sound. 

TJie  second  sound  of  U  is  short,  as  in  up.  Twr-nips  AQ-murred  at  the 
7iwjn&-skull  of  a  mush-j  scid-\ion ;  a  cowr-teous  hus-hand  coup-led  himself 
to  a  tum-hling  tur-t\e ;  burst  with  the  bidk  of  fun  and  rtin  to  the  un- 
dertakers. 

The  third  sound  of  U  is  fidl,  as  in  pw/Z.  Brii-tns,  the  cni-el  cuck-oo, 
would  im-hrue  his  youth-ful  hands  in  Ruth's  rouge;  sinful  butch-ers' 
bul-let  push-ed  puss  graceful-ly  on  the  -peaceful  cush-'ion. 

To  expel  this  full  sound  of  u  in  a  proper  manner  is  quite  hard  for 
most  persons,  merely  because  the  vocal  organs  are  not  in  the  right 
position,  especially  the  lips,  which  must  be  projected  straight  forward, 
without  turning  them  either  up  or  down.  Let  us  speak  drawlingly 
the  first  syllable  of  the  word  wo-man  ;  let  us  prolong  the  letter  o  a 
little,  and  this  will  be  the  exact  sound  of  full  u. 

"And  if  it  be  Prometheus  stole  from  heaven 

The  fire  which  we  endure,  it  was  repaid 

By  him  to  whom  the  energy  was  given 

"Which  this  poetic  marble  hath  arrayed 

"With  an  eternal  glory,  which,  if  made 

By  hwrnan  hands,  is  not  of  hwraan  thought; 

And  time  himself  hath  hallowed  it,  nor  laid 

One  ringlet  in  the  dust;  nor  hath  it  caught 

A  tinge  of  years,  but  breathes  the  flame  with  which  't  was  wrought." 
"The  light  winds,  which  from  itnstaining  wings 

Shed  the  music  of  many  mttrmurings." 


MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION,  35 

Vanishing  force  is  exhibited  when,  we  begin  a  word  or  sentence 
very  k>ud  and  full,  and  gradually  diminish  it  to  a  point  of  inaudibility. 

Quantity  means  the  longer  or  shorter  time  employed  in  enunci- 
ating sounds,  syllables,  words,  and  sentences.  The  further  we  wish  a 
sound  to  be  heard  the  longer  it  must  be  made,  and  with  a  proportioned 
enlargement  of  its  volume.  Quality  means  the  kind  of  voice  we  use, 
and  may  be  soft,  harsh,  clear,  smooth,  rough,  or  deep. 

There  are  two  special  objects  to  be  kept  in  view.  These  are  the 
proper  cultivation  of  both  voice  and  ear  in  connection  Avith  all  tlie 
elements  of  speech  and  song. 

We  shall  find  that  practicing  each  vowel-sound  and  vocal  conso- 
nant-sound on  all  the  notes  of  the  scale  is  of  primary  importance,  and 
that  perfect  success  can  not  be  attained  Avithout  such  exercise;  and 
Ave  must  carry  each  element  to  its  utmost  extent  in  the  right  direc- 
tion. AVe  can  obtain  as  good  control  over  our  vocal  organs  as  over 
any  of  our  bodily  organs. 

"  Rest  not  content  in  thy  darkness — a  clod ! 
Work — for  some  good,  be  it  ever  so  slowly ; 
Cherish  some  flower,  be  it  ever  so  lowly; 
Labor! — all  labor  is  noble  and  holy; 

Let  thy  great  deeds  be  thy  prayer  to  thy  God." 
"We  look  before  and  after,  and  pine  for  what  is  naught. 
Our  sweetest  laughter  with  some  pain  is  fraught; 
Our  sweetest  songs  are  those  that  tell  of  saddest  thought." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Pitch  of  the  Voice — Diatonic  Scale — Scale  or  Ladder  for  the  Yoice. 

Pitch  of  the  voice  is  a  most  important  subject,  and  fortunately 
for  us  nature  has  given  us  just  the  thing  Ave  need  to  definitely  fix  all 
kinds  of  reading,  speaking,  and  singing,  in  giving  us  the  diatonic 
scale,  on  some  one  of  Avhose  notes  or  tones  the  pitch  of  the  voice  is 
ahvays  found.  Now,  this  scale  consists  of  seven  different  pitches,  five 
of  Avhich  are  each  a  Avhole  tone  apart  from  its  neighbor,  and  two  of 
them  only  half  a  tone  apart ;  but  the  whole  ones  may  be  divided  into 
half-tones,  and  these  into  quarters,  these  into  eighths,  these  into  six- 
teenths, these  into  thirty -seconds,  and  these  into  sixty-fourths;  and 
ALL  of  these  are  used  more  or  less  by  every  one  Avho  talks  in  the 
usual  manner. 


36  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

By  stud}  -ag  the  effects  that  are  produced  by  the  voice  when  we 
permit  it  to  range  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest  notes  in  the  natural 
scale,  we  find  that  the  half-tones  always  occur  between  the  third 
and  fourth  and  seventh  and  eighth  notes  or  pitches,  both  in  speech 
and  song. 

The  lower  three  are  for  private  conversation ;  also  for  emphasis  in 
very  grave  and  solemn  subjects,  hereafter  to  be  more  fully  explained. 
The  upper  three  are  for  impassioned  words  and  phrases,  where  tao 
feelings  predominate  over  the  thoughts ;  and  the  middle  four  are  for 
all  the  ordinary  and  general  objects  of  reading  and  speaking,  where 
the  great  object  is  to  be  heard  by  all  when  imparting  information  on 
any  subject  whatever,  either  by  explaining  or  illustrating  the  truths 
of  science,  philosophy,  or  religion. 

When  speaking  to  a  person  near  by,  when  in  company  with  others, 
and  I  do  not  wish  them  to  hear  what  I  say,  I  speak  on  a  lower  note,  or 
l)itch,  as  it  is  called,  and  suppress  my  voice  so  as  to  be  heard  only  by 
the  person  addressed;  thus:  "My  dear  friend,  I  hope  you  will  be 
very  careful  about  saying  any  thing  ill  of  your  neighbors,  and  always 
do  as  you  Avould  be  done  by."  In  most  cases  of  this  kind  the  voice 
Avill  drop  to  its  lowest  natural  pitch,  or  to  C,  the  first  note  in  the 
diatonic  scale. 

When  we  call  to  a  person  at  a  great  distance  we  naturally  raise 
our  voices  to  the  highest  notes  or  pitches;  thus:  "Mr.  Hall,  come 
])ack;  I  have  a  letter  for  you."  All  of  which  is  given  on  the  upper 
pitches  of  voice,  ranging  from  eight  to  ten. 

If  we  address  a  person  at  a  medium  distance,  in  company  with 
others,  in  a  j^ublic  assembly,  for  instance,  the  voice  will  range  about 
midway  between  the  first  and  eighth;  thus:  "I  wish  you  all  to  hear 
what  I  say  before  I  close;  it  is  this:  never,  on  any  consideration, 
profess  what  you  do  not  believe;  for  if  you  do  you  are  hypocrites." 

In  the  above  three  examples  we  see  what  are  the  two  extreme 
pitches  of  voice,  and  the  medium  ones,  which  comprehend  all  that 
are  ever  used  in  speech ;  for  all  the  voice-sounds  we  ever  hear  come 
within  the  scale  of  the  eight  notes,  though  really  there  are  but  seven, 
tlie  eighth  being  the  first  repeated,  just  an  octave  or  eighth  above  or 
below.     (See  the  illustrations.) 

As  a  general  rule,  we  must  not  begin  to  speak  or  read  below  our 
third  note  (which  is  the  upper  one  of  the  lower  pitches),  nor  above 
our  fifth  note ;  for  if  we  do  we  shall  be  quite  sure  to  run  into  extremes. 
Therefore  it  is  just  as  necessary  to  pitch  our  voices  on  the  right  key 
in  reading  and  speaking  ias  it  is  in  singing ;  for  as  we  begin  so  shall 


MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION.  37 

we  be  likely  to  continue  to  the  end  of  the  exercise.    Let  us  be  certain 
that  we  are  in  the  right  way,  and  then  persevere  in  it. 

Gracchus,  the  Roman  orator,  used  to  have  a  person  stand  behind 
him,  privately,  to  give  him  skillfully  the  proper  note  when  he  wished 
to  change  the  pitch  of  his  voice  and  quicken  or  soften  its  vehemence. 
The  knowledge  of  this  fact  led  the  author  of  these  pages  to  study  and 
practice  elocution  and  music  together,  and  taught  him  that  there  is 
nothing  in  the  latter  that  does  not  exist  in  the  former.  We  must 
practice  each  of  these  sixteen  vowel-sounds  on  every  pitch  of  voice 
found  in  the  diatonic  scale,  or  voice-ladder,  both  in  the  speaking  and 
singing  tones. 

8.   Ale,  an,  all,  at,  eel,  ell,  isle,  ill,  etc. 

7.   Ale,  an,  all,  at,  eel,  ell,  isle,  ill,  etc. 

6.   Ale,  an,  all,  at,  eel,  ell,  isle,  ill,  etc. 

5.   Ale,  an,  all,  at,  eel,  ell,  isle,  ill,  etc. 

4.   Ale,  an,  all,  at,  eel,  ell,  isle,  ill,  etc. 

3.   xVle,  an,  all,  at,  eel,  ell,  isle,  ill,  etc. 

2.   Ale,  an,  all,  at,  eel,  ell,  isle,  ill,  etc. 

1.   Ale,  an,  all,  at,  eel,  ell,  isle,  ill,  etc. 

The  Diatonic  Scale  is  so  called  because  it  extends  through  or 
comprehends  all  the  pitches  of  voice  and  sound  ever  used  in  speaking 
or  singing.  Let  us  erect  this  scale,  or  ladder  for  the  voice,  on  our 
lowest  natural  note,  as  before  indicated. 


8. 

Eel. 

Eight. 

7. 

Isle. 

Seven.     Half  stop,  or  tone. 

G. 

Ooze. 

Six.     Whole  stop,  or  tone. 

5. 

Old. 

Five.     Whole  stop,  or  tone. 

4. 

At. 

Four.     Whole  stop,  or  tone. 

3. 

Ale. 

Three.     Half  stop,  or  tone. 

2. 

An. 

All. 

Two.     Whole  stop,  or  tone. 

1. 

One.     Whole  stop,  or  tone. 

Here  is  a  ladder  for  the  voice  to  ascend  or  descend  on,  or  to  move 
along  upon  any  of  its  sounds ;  and  it  is  always  on  some  one  of  these, 
for  it  can  be  nowhere  else.  It  naturally  divides  itself  into  three 
parts — the  lower  pitches  for  depressed  tones  of  conversation,  and 
grave  and  sublime  emphasis;  the  middle  for  the  common  uses  of 
speech;  and  the  upper  ones  for  calling  out  at  a  distance,  and  for 
impassioned  eloquence. 


38 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 


To  extend  the  compass  of  voice  is  very  desirable  both  in  reading 
and  singing;  and  an  excellent  way  thus  to  stretch  the  voice  is  to 
speak  any  phrase  on  as  low  a  note  or  pitch  as  we  can,  and  ascend  the 
scale,  or  voice-ladder,  by  regular  steps. 


Example. 


8. 

0  you  hard  hearts 

you  cruel,  etc. 

7. 

0  you  hard  hearts 

you  cruel,  etc. 

6. 

O  you  hard  hearts 

you  cruel,  etc. 

5. 

O  you  hard  hearts 

you  cruel,  etc. 

4. 

0  you  hard  hearts 

you  cruel,  etc. 

3. 

0  you  hard  hearts 

you  cruel,  etc. 

2. 

0  you  hard  hearts 

you  cruel,  etc. 

(Lowest.)  1. 

0  you  hard  hearts 

you  cruel  men  of  Rome ! 

After  practicing  this  exercise  awhile,  we  must  try  to  go  higher  and 
lower  than  these  eight  degrees,  uttering  the  words  as  musically  as  we 
can,  and  seeing  that  the  organs  are  moving  properly. 

The  four  vowel-sounds  which  are  presented  above,  when  naturally 
given,  will  be  found  on  the  lower  half  of  the  scale,  and  the  other  ones 
on  the  uj)per  half;  thus: 


8.  Ee 

1. 

eight. 

7.  I 

sle. 

seven. 

6.  Go 

ze. 

six. 

5.  0 

Id. 

five. 

4.  A 

t. 

four. 

3.   A 

le. 

three. 

2.  A 

rm. 

two. 

1.  A 

11. 

one. 

For  the  varied  purposes  of  elocution  the  diatonic  scale  of  seven 
notes  is  divided  only  into  three  parts,  which  must  be  perfectly  under- 
stood, otherwise  we  shall  have  no  solid  foundation  on  which  to  build 
these  arts.     These  divisions  are  the  tone  pitches. 

The  lower  pitch  extends  from  one  to  three  inclusive — i.  e.,  one, 
two,  three ;  the  middle  pitch  extends  from  three  to  six — three,  four, 
five,  six;  the  highest  pitch  from  six  to  eight — six,  seven,  eight.     The 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  39 

pupil  must  practice  on  these  several  pitches  until  he  or  she  can  tell 
instantly  on  which  of  them  the  voice  is  at  any  time. 

Directions  for  Talking  the  Scale. — A  practice  to  be  highly 
recommended  is  the  talking  of  the  scale,  which  may  be  done  with  the 
accompaniment  of  the  piano  or  some  other  musical  instrument,  as 
follows:  Strike  the  middle  C  of  the  key-board  repeatedly,  keeping 
up  the  sound  as  long  as  required,  and  speak  a  whole  sentence  or 
couplet  in  that  tone,  prolonging  the  accented  vowel  in  each  word  in 
as  loud,  clear,  round,  and  full  a  voice  as  possible,  and  without  any 
variation  of  the  pitch;  then  strike  the  next  note  below,  and  repeat 
all  the  words  in  that  tone ;  and  so  on  down  in  the  same  way  until  the 
lowest  possible  pitch  of  voice  is  reached.  Then  ascend  the  scale  in 
the  same  manner,  speaking  all  the  words  on  each  note  slowly,  taking 
ample  time  for  full  prolongation,  until  the  highest  falsette  pitch  of 
voice  is  reached,  without  breaking  into  singing  tones ;  then  gradually 
descend.  For  example,  take  the  sentence,  "  O  ye  cruel  men  of  Rome ! " 
O  —  ve  cru-el — men  —  of — Ro-me! 


O  —  ye  cru-el  —  men  —  of — Ko-me! 
O  —  ve  cru-ol  —  men  —  of — Ro-me! 


O  —  ye  cru-el  —  men  —  of — Ko-me  I 
O  —  ye  cru-el  —  men  —  of — Ro-me! 


O  —  ye  cru  -  el  —  men  —  of —  Ro  -  me ! 
O  —  ve  cru-el  —  men  —  of — Ro-me! 


O  —  ye  cru-el  —  men  —  of — Ro-me! 


Then  talk  on  the  third,  the  fifth,  the  seventh,  and  back  again ;  then 
from  the  third  to  the  seventh,  and  back  again;  from  the  first  to  the 
seventh,  and  back  again.  This  practice  persevered  in  will  give  great 
strength  and  compass  to  the  voice,  and  flexibility,  purity,  and  sweetness 
to  the  tones. 

When  classes  are  drilled  in  concert  in  this  exercise,  the  teacher 
should  beat  time,  and  be  careful  that  harmony  of  pitch  is  preserved. 


40  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Elements  of  Speech — Exercises  in  Articulation — Table  of  Aspirates — 
Aspirates  anb  Subvowels — Table  of  Subvowels. 

Human  speech  is  made  of  vibrations  of  air,  or  exhaling  breath. 
There  are  two  kinds  of  sounds  made  by  this  exhaling  breath — one  we 
denominate  voice  or  vowel-sound,  the  other  breath  or  aspirate-sound. 
All  voice-sounds  are  made  in  the  glottis,  whether  they  are  pure  open 
vowels  or  subvowels,  as  has  been  before  explained.  The  aspirates 
are  un vocalized  sounds ;  that  is,  the  air  in  passing  through  the  glottis 
is  not  disturbed  by  the  vocal  chords,  but  passes  out  freely  as  in 
common  breathing,  is  retained  in  the  mouth,  and  shaped  into  peculiar 
characteristics  or  waves  of  sound  by  the  tongue,  teeth,  and  lips. 

What  we  term  the  subvowels  are  voice-sounds,  restrained  and 
articulated  by  the  tongue,  teeth,  and  lips,  just  as  are  the  aspirates. 
Indeed,  these  are  equally  paired,  each  of  the  aspirates  having  a  cor- 
relative vocal  or  atonic,  made  by  exactly  the  same  position  of  the 
organs;  the  difference  being  that  one  is  pure  breath  and  the  other 
vocal  breath,  or  breath  that  has  been  previously  agitated  by  the  vocal 
chords.  TJie  asjnrates  are  articulated  breath;  tJie  subvowels  are  vocalized 
aHiculated  breath. 

The  table  in  this  chapter  will  show  the  division,  giving  the  names 
of  each,  as  also  an  arrangement  of  the  correlatives,  followed  by  a 
full  description  of  the  way  in  which  each  is  produced  by  the  organs 
of  speech. 

They  are  minutely  described  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  lisp, 
stammer,  and  have  imperfect  articulation;  the  last-named  being 
much  more  numerous,  but  equally  incapable  of  making  themselves 
understood. 

The  sounds  must  be  made  correctly  and  practiced  with  care,  for 
they  are  the  elements  of  speech.  They,  with  the  exercises,  are  given 
as  a  practice  for  the  articulating  organs.  The  exercises  on  the  vowel- 
sounds  have  been  hitherto  mostly  for  strengthening,  increasing,  and 
beautifying  the  voice ;  now  we  want  the  same  perfection  in  the  enun- 
ciation of  letters,  syllables,  and  words,  and  they  should  be  used  as  a 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  41 

daily  practice  even  after  the  pupil  has  mastered  them.  They  do  for 
the  articulating  muscles  what  the  five-finger  piano  exercises  do  for  the 
muscles  of  the  fingers  and  hands;  i.  e.,  give  power  and  flexibility  of 
motion,  and  render  them  intuitively  obedient  to  the  will. 

Particularly  do  foreigners,  who  desire  a  correct  pronunciation  of 
our  language,  require  a  thorough  drill  on  these  sounds  and  their 
combinations.  A  few  weeks  of  practice  on  these  elements  would  do 
more  than  many  months  of  study.  The  French  and  Germans  find 
great  difficulty  in  pronouncing  the  th.  For  tJi  the  former  give  z,  and 
the  latter  give  d ;  making  they,  zay  and  day.  For  w  they  give  v — I  vos 
for  ivas;  vot  you  zay  for  what  you  say.  For  j>  they  place  b — bleazes 
for  pleases.  Such  should  be  taught  the  true  position  of  the  articu- 
lating organs.     A  little  practice  "will  overcome  the  difficulty. 

Slovenliness  in  articulation  is  as  deserving  of  reprehension  as 
slovenliness  in  dress  or  gait.  Indeed,  much  more  so;  for  words  are 
used  to  clothe  our  thoughts  and  give  expression  to  our  sentiments, 
but  if  not  clearly  and  distinctly  uttered  they  can  never  convey  w'ith 
purity  the  information  we  wish. 

Listen  attentively  to  hear  yourself  pi'onounce  the  following  exer- 
cises, and  if  your  ears  detect  each  word  perfectly  coined  they  will  be 
much  gratified. 

Exercises. 

Down  in  the  deep  dungeon  he  did  delve;  the  flaming  fire  flashed  full  in  his 
face.  The  glassy  glaciers  gleamed  in  glowing,  gorgeous  gloze  on  the  glittering 
globe.  The  gly-phog-ra-pher  glued  the  gluten  glj-cerine,  and  gave  golden 
gold-fish  to  the  goitered  goat-herd.  The  grunting  groom  groaned  grossly  at 
the  golden  grotto. 

Swift  the  streamlet's  soft  struggles  sent  strong  strings,  stopt  stufis  of  stam- 
mering stones. 

He  accepts  the  tracts,  and  attempts  by  his  acts  to  conceal  his  faults. 

The  glands,  lands,  bands,  and  sands;  barb'dst,  muzzl'dst,  laid'st,  and  step'st, 
black'ndst  and  mangl'dst  nothing. 

An  ocean,  an  oyster,  an  iceberg,  an  uncle,  an  aunt,  a  niece,  an  ink-bottle, 
a  numb-skull,  and  aji  ou-ran-og-ra-phist  asked  to  be  mask'd  and  rasp'd,  slash' d 
and  dash'd. 

Orb'd  and  robb'd  he  glow'd,  ow'd,  mow'd,  and  bestow'd;  roasted  and  boasted 
of  this  thin  and  that  thick  thumping  thimble. 

These,  those,  that,  theirs,  thine,  and  mine. 

Roasting,  toasting,  boasting,  smoking,  gloating,  singing,  clinging,  stinging, 
banking,  flanking,  and  ranting. 

An  exceeding  expectant  expected  the  expedient  expedite,  for  an  expedition 
to  expel  the  expensive  expert;  explain  the  expletory  and  explode  the  exploit; 
and  export  the  exponent  by  express,  exclaiming  excessively  for  the  exchange 
of  exchequer. 


42 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 


While  we  waited  for  the  wan  watchman,  the  winds  blew  bleak  along  the 
blustering  bosom  of  the  beach.  Front  rank,  full  face ;  fair  and  funny  fanned 
the  flaming  fire  full  in  his  face. 

INFLUENCE.    Bt  George  W.  Bungay. 

Drop — follows  rfro/?, — and  swells — 
With  rain — the  sweeping  river; 
Word — follows  word, — and  tells — 
A  truth — that  lives — -forever. 

Fl  ake — follows  jftake, — like  spirits 
Whose  wings — the  winds — dissever; 
Thought — follows  thought, — and  lights — ■ 
The  realm  of  77iind — -forever. 

Beam — follows  beam — to  cheer 
The  cloud — the  bolt  would  shiver ; 
Throb — follows  throb, — and  fear 
Gives  place  to  joy — -forever. 

The  drop,  the  flake,  the  beam, 
Teach  us  a  lesson  ever; 
The  word,  the  thought,  the  dream,, 
Impress  the  soul — forever. 


C  has  four  sounds — 
C  in  cent,  or  s. 
C  in  clock,  or  k. 
C  in  suffice,  or  z. 
C  in  ocean,  or  sh. 

F  takes  two  sounds — 
F  in  fife. 
F  in  of — V. 

H  takes  one  sound — 
H  in  hope. 


Table  of  Aspirates. 

K  takes  one  sound — 
K  in  kirk. 

P  takes  one  sound — 
P  in  pipe. 

Q  has  one  sound — 
Q  in  queen. 

S  takes  four  sounds — 
S  in  so — c. 
S  in  is — z. 
S  in  sure — sh. 
S  in  treasury — 2d  of  z. 


T  takes  two  sounds — 
T  in  put. 
T  in  nation — sh. 

Ch  takes  three  sounds — 
Ch  in  church. 
Ch  in  chaise. 
Ch  in  chasm. 

Th  takes  two  sounds — 
Th  in  thin. 
Th  in  that. 


The  following  table  shows  the  aspirates  and  subvowels  arranged 
in  pairs — the  two  sounds  of  which  require  the  same  position  of  the 
organs  to  produce  them : 


/Ah 

1h 

{? 

{\ 

{J 

[1 

ICh 

f  Go 
IQ 

/  W — Oman 
I  Wh— at 


rsh 

1  Z,  2d  sound. 

f  Th— this 
t  Th— thin 


In} 


both  are 
subvowels 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 


43 


B  takes  one  sound — 
B  in  bribe. 


Table  of  Subvowels. 

K  has  a  single  and  double  sound — 

K  in  arm — single  after  a  vowel. 


D  takes  two  sounds — 
D  in  did. 
D  in  banked,  fined. 

G  takes  three  sounds — 

G  in  gay — g  hard. 

G  in  gem — -j. 

G  in  charge — z,  2d  sound. 

J  takes  one  sou7id — 
J  in  June. 

L  takes  one  sound — 
L  in  lay. 

M  takes  one  sound — 
M  in  man. 

N  takes  one  sound — 
N  in  name. 


K  in  Eome — double,  trilled 
fore  a  vowel. 

V  takes  one  soujid — 

Y  in  vivid. 

"W  takes  one  sound — 
W  in  wall. 

X  has  the  compound  sound  of  g  and  : 
X  in  exist. 

Y  has  three  sounds — 

Y  in  youth. 

Y  in  h3'drant  (long  i). 

Y  in  bymn  (short  i). 

Z  takes  two  sounds — 
Z  in  zigzag. 
Z  in  azure. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Aspirates — Manner  of  formixg  Aspirates — Sounds  of  C;  F;  H;  P;  Q; 

S;  Z;  K;   T. 

In  the  formation  of  words  the  aspirates  interfere  and  break  off  the 
vowel-sounds,  whizzing,  puffing,  and  buzzing  between  them  in  a  very- 
funny  and  inharmonious  manner,  somewhat  like  the  noise  of  imple- 
ments or  machinery  in  rapid  motion.  The  ventriloquist  is  dependent 
upon  the  aspirates  in  imitating  the  noise  of  certain  kinds  of  machinery 
and  of  escaping  steam.  These  sounds  are  made  by  the  tongue  and 
lips,  and  are  very  penetrating;  the  tongue  assuming  certain  positions 
in  the  mouth  in  relation  to  the  teeth  and  lips,  forming  avenues,  angles, 
and  corners  around  and  through  which  the  breath  is  forcibly  expelled. 
The  aspirated  sounds  make  up  a  large  part  of  our  language,  and  are 
quite  difficult  to  master  in  connection  with  the  vowels  and  subvocals. 


44  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Indeed,  the  majority  of  people  never  acquire  a  good  articulation, 
which  results  from  want  of  proper  training  of  the  organs  used  in 
making  these  sounds. 

Many  persons  lisp  all  their  lives  for  the  reason  that  they  have  never 
been  taught  where  to  place  the  tongue  to  insure  a  distinct  utterance 
of  the  sounds  of  th  and  s.  They  make  the  sound  of  th  between  the 
point  of  the  tongue  and  the  upper  front  teeth ;  then  instead  of  with- 
drawing the  tongue  within  toward  the  roof  of  the  mouth,  where  the 
sound  of  s  is  always  produced,  they  simply  repeat  the  th,  not  making 
the  sound  of  s  at  all.  The  words  this,  these,  and  others  of  like  ter- 
mination, lisping  people  pronounce  as  thith,  thetJw. 

Example. — A  charming  young  gentleman  expressed  his  lisping  and  con- 
fessed his  love  in  this  wise:  "  Thweet  Thynthia,  my  heart-th  treathure,  thmile 
upon  me,  or  I  thall  fly  acroth  the  hroad  bothom  of  the  othean  and  thigh  out 
my  latht  breath  on  thome  foreign  thore." 

Parents  sometimes  think  lisping  in  their  children  very  cunning; 
but  the  time  will  come  when  the  children  will  think  it  neither  cunning 
nor  wise  in  their  parents  to  have  allowed  them  to  retain  such  a  habit. 
Let  no  person  indulge  in  this  childish  habit ;  it  is  not  only  ridiculous, 
but  devoid  of  personal  dignity. 

C  takes  four  regular  sounds,  or  rather  at  times  it  becomes  the 
equivalent  of  s,  sometimes  of  h,  and  again  of  z,  and  also  of  sh.  When 
it  is  sounded  as  s  in  see  or  so,  it  takes  what  is  called  its  soft  or  name- 
sound. 

To  produce  this  clear,  shrill  sound  the  teeth  nearly,  but  do  not  quite, 
meet;  the  lips  are  drawn  away,  and  the  end  of  the  tongue  is  placed 
in  close  proximity  to  the  roots  of  the  upper  front  teeth,  leaving  just 
room  enough  for  the  breath  to  be  forced  over  the  end  of  the  tongue 
and  out  through  the  mouth.  With  the  organs  in  this  position,  make 
the  endeavor  to  whisper  the  word  see,  and  continue  the  sound  of  s 
without  gliding  into  ee. 

It  is  very  difficult  for  persons  who  lisp  to  make  this  sharp,  clear, 
whistling  sound.  Indeed,  but  very  few  persons  can  articulate  it  dis- 
tinctly when,  at  the  end  of  ^vords,  it  follows  t  or  th. 

Practice  the  following  with  a  view  of  gaining  the  sound  distinctly: 
Withs,  smiths,  ghosts,  hosts,  masts,  pasts,  marts,  Christs,  boats,  toasts, 
spits,  splits,  quits,  writs. 

Pronounce  the  following,  where  c  and  s  take  exactly  the  same 
sound:  City,  cite,  cede,  cease,  cent,  cell,  Cyprus,  civet,  citron,  circle; 
saints,  sinners,  and  singers  saved  Sampson's  sisters,  Sophia,  Susan, 
and  Cynthia. 


MANUAL   OF  ELOCUTION.  45 

A  very  pretty  ventriloquial  exercise  of  this  sound  (c)  is  produced 
by  imitating  the  sharp,  clear  noise  made  by  the  carpenter  planing  a 
board.  The  sound  is  prolonged,  and  then  brought  suddenly  to  a  close 
in  the  efibrt  to  pronounce  p.  To  make  the  illusion  more  complete, 
the  performer  will  take  a  book  or  block  of  some  kind  and  perform  the 
pantomimic  action  of  planing  on  the  surface  of  a  table,  but  must  be 
very  sure  to  cease  the  effort  as  soon  as  the  p  is  sounded ;  thus : 

C p,  c p,  c p,  c_ p,  cp. 

C  usually  takes  this  sound  before  e,  i,  and  y — Cecil,  facile,  vagrancy. 

When  c  borrows  the  sound  of  k  it  is  said  to  be  hard,  but  it  simply 
assumes  the  sound  of  k.  This  is  the  correlative  of  g  hard,  as  in  go. 
To  form  these  two  sounds  the  organs  are  placed  in  exactly  the  same 
position;  the  mouth  is  slightly  open,  and  the  end  of  the  tongue 
pressed  down  against  the  lower  front  teeth.  This  effort  forces  the 
middle  of  the  tongue  up  near  the  roof  or  hard  palate  in  the  form 
of  an  arch.  To  produce  the  clicking  sound  of  a,  the  breath  is  then 
forcibly  thrown  over  the  tongue;  to  make  the  hard  sound  of  g,  the 
breath  is  vocalized  before  it  is  thrown  over — that  is  all  the  difference. 
It  takes  this  sound  before  a,  0,  u,  I,  r,  t — care,  came,  act,  come,  clock, 
craft,  cane,  cape,  case,  calf,  cask,  couple,  cork.  It  is  exactly  like  k 
in  kin,  kick,  kirk,  kit. 

Pronounce  and  spell,  by  the  use  of  the  sovuids  of  the  letters,  the 
following:  Climac-teric,  cackle,  cake,  calico,  caloric,  cal-ca-reous, 
Capricorn,  carcass,  casque  Avith  classical  cloak;  kicking,  clicking,  and 
kissing  the  keepsake. 

When  these  soft  and  hard  sounds  come  together,  s  and  c  are  re- 
quired; as  in  screech,  scrawl,  scream,  scrubble,  scripture,  scur-ril, 
scutch-eon,  San-skrit,  school. 

C  also  takes  the  subvowel-sound  of  2,  and  the  manner  of  producing 
it  is  the  same  as  in  making  the  soft  sovuid  of  c,  of  which  it  is  a 
correlative ;  the  difference  being  that  in  e  soft  the  breath  passes  unvo- 
calized;  in  z  it  is  vocalized,  giving  a  buzzing  sound.  C  in  suffice,  s  in 
cheese,  and  z  in  wheeze,  all  have  the  same  sound,  which  is  the  first 
subvowcl-sound  of  z. 

Very  many  words  ending  in  s  take  this  sound  also;  as  was,  has, 
gas,  arms,  harms,  swarms,  rags,  figs,  drugs,  tongs,  gibs,  fibs,  bags,  etc. 
When  double  s  occurs,  we  give  the  soft  sound ;  as  in  grass,  pass,  glass, 
wit-ness,  good-ness,  bright-ness. 

C  sometimes  takes  the  sound  of  sh  after  an  accent  followed  by 
ea,  ia,  eo,  can,  ion.     This  is  a  pure  aspirate -sound,  and  is  the  coun- 


46  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION: 

terpart  of  the  second  sound  of  z,  as  in  azure,  and  is  produced  by- 
shutting  the  teeth  together  and  forcibly  blowing  the  breath  between 
them.  When  the  breath  is  vocalized  before  it  is  thus  forced  through, 
it  makes  the  sound  of  z  just  mentioned  —  Grecian,  conscientious, 
propitious  ocean,  retention,  vicious.  It  has  precisely  the  same  sound 
as  %h,  in  sham,  shine,  shimmer,  shoes. 

Examples  of  all  the  Sounds  of  C. — Cede,  city,  crime,  clack,  charm, 
social,  suffice. 

i^  is  a  pure  aspirate.  To  make  it  the  upper  front  teeth  are  placed 
on  the  lower  lip  and  the  breath  blown  through.  V  is  the  counter- 
part of  this,  only  the  breath  is  vocalized.  In  o/",  /  takes  the  vocal 
sound,  but  its  usual  sound  is  a  pure  aspirate;  as  form,  feet,  fuss,  fool, 
infinite,  effete,  affirm,  etc. 

H  has  one  sound,  which  is  produced  by  opening  wide  the  mouth 
and  forcibly  expelling  the  breath.  The  vocal  counterpart  of  this 
aspirate  is  the  vowel  ah — hit,  harm,  home,  half,  help,  hand,  etc. 

P  also  has  one  sound,  which  is  an  aspirate.  It  is  made  by  pressing 
the  lips  tightly  together,  then  suddenly  separating  them,  as  though 
going  to  whisper  the  word  puff.  It  is  simply  a  puff  of  air — pipe,  port, 
post,  ripe,  pale,  pip-pin.  The  vocal  sound  of  this  same  effort  is  h — 
bribe,  Jacob,  break,  babble.  In  Jacob,  Jupiter,  and  Baptist,  it  is 
quite  difficult  to  distinguish  the  one  from  the  other. 

Q  takes  one  sound,  and  is  also  an  aspirate.  The  sound  is  quite 
similar  to  k,  but  in  producing  it  the  lips  Avith  the  corners  of  the  mouth 
protrude  forward  and  closer  together,  instead  of  being  drawn  back, 
as  in  making  h;  nor  is  the  tongue  held  down  so  firmly.  Make  the 
effort  to  whisper  queen  without  reaching  the  vowel  u — quill,  quoth, 
quirk,  sequel,  sequence.  The  vowel  effort  that  corresponds  to  this  is 
00  or  close  o. 

5  takes  four  sounds,  two  of  which  are  pure  aspirates — so,  sh.  It 
takes  the  sound  of  sh  in  sugar,  sure,  etc.  Both  of  these  sounds  have 
been  fully  treated  of  in  the  remarks  about  the  letter  c.  It  also  takes 
the  two  sub  vowel-sounds  of  z,  which  have  been  before  presented. 

Exercises  in  the  Soft  Sound  of  S. — Sam  saved  and  sawed  six  slim 
slippery  saplings,  and  swimming,  swam  smack  into  the  Swiss  swamp,  south 
of  Smith's  settlement.  Amidst  the  mists  he  thrusts  his  fists  against  the  posts, 
and  insists  he  sees  hosts  of  ghosts,  and  twists  and  hoasts  of  toasts.  Get  the 
latest  amended  edition  of  Charles  Smith's  Thucydides,  and  study  the  colonists, 
best  interests-. 

Z — The  first  sound  of  z  is  found  in  ro-se-ate,  pleas-ures,  en-thu-si-ate, 
scis-sors ;  was  and  is  on  Iser's  praise  dis-dainful  rais'd ;  a  busy  muse, 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  47 

applause  and  despise,  the  noiseless  waves  and  closing  skies;  sighs, 
fantasy,  wisdom,  and  business. 

The  second  sound  of  z  is  in  the  following  words:  Adhesion  to 
ambro-sial  inclo-sures  to  treasures  and  pleasures,  take  ho-siers,  bra-ziei-'s 
crosiers,  brasions  and  treasures,  for  corrosions  and  explosions,  illusions, 
confusions,  conclusions,  and  intrusions. 

To  make  the  second  sound  of  2  the  teeth  meet  firmly  together,  the 
lips  are  thrown  out,  wdiile  the  tip  of  the  tongue  rests  at  the  base  of  the 
lower  front  teeth,  bending  the  tongue  up  so  as  to  completely  line  the 
upper  and  lower  front  teeth,  scarcely  touching  tliem.  The  vocalized 
breath  is  forced  through  the  small  aperture  and  between  the  teeth. 
The  correlative  of  this  sound  is  s/i,  made  in  the  same  way,  but  with 
unvocalized  breath. 

K  takes  one  pure  aspirate-sound,  which  has  received  attention 
under  the  letter  c.  Its  vocal  equivalent  is  </  hard.  Crickets,  keen, 
kill'd,  rebuke;  quaker,  quirk'd,  work'd,  cork'd,  york'd,  look'd  and 
smok'd,  provok'd  and  invok'd,  joked,  poked,  and  croak'd. 

G  hard  and  the  vowel  e  are  made  with  the  organs  in  the  same 
position.  In  the  vowel-sound  the  vocalized  breath  passes  out  evenly 
without  interruption,  while  in  making  the  subvowel  cf  and  the  aspi- 
rate ]i  the  expulsion  is  sudden  and  forcible. 

T  takes  two  sounds,  its  real  one,  which  is  an  aspirate,  and  its  vocal 
correlative  d.  To  make  it  the  tongue  is  first  pressed  tightly  against 
the  roof  of  the  mouth  and  suddenly  withdrawn,  expelling  the  breath 
forcibly.     Tilt,  tit-tat,  with  a  rat-tat-tat. 

D  is  made  in  the  same  way.  With  the  vocalized  breath  d  fre- 
quently takes  the  sound  of  t. 

Exercise  in  Jaw-brkakers. — Thou  wroath'd'st  and  muzzl'd'st  the  far- 
fetched ox,  and  imprison'd'st  in  the  volcanic  mountains  of  Pop-o-cat-a-petl  in 
Cot-o-pax-i.  Thou  prob'd'st  my  rack'd  ribs.  Thou  trifl'd'st  with  his  acts,  and 
thou  black'n'st  and  contaniinated'st  with  his  filcli'd  character.  Thou  lov'd'st 
the  elves  when  thou  heard'st  and  quick'n'd'st  my  heart's  tuneful  harps.  Thou 
wagg'dst  thy  propp'd-up  head,  because  thou  thrust'dst  three  hundred  and 
thirty-three  thistles  through  the  thick  of  that  thumb  that  thou  cur'dst  of  the 
barbed  shafts. 


48  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Aspirates  continued  —  B;  D;  G;  J;  L;  M;  N;  R;  V;  W;  X — Digraphs: 
ch,  sh,  ffh,  ph,  th,  wh. 

^  is  a  restrained  vocal  sound,  made  precisely  as  p  is,  only  the  vocal 
breath  is  thrown  up  against  the  lips,  producing  a  swallowed  sound. 
Compress  the  lips  tightly  and  try  to  speak  uh.  Jacob  hob-nob'd  with 
a  cobbler,  dabbled  in  ribbons,  bonbons,  berries,  and  cabbage;  the 
baboon  baby  babbl'd  and  gabbl'd  its  gibberish  with  a  rub-a-dub-dub. 

D  is  also  a  restrained  vocal  sound,  exjjlained  under  the  aspirate  t. 
It  frequently  takes  the  sound  of  t  at  the  end  of  words.  He  escap'd 
vex'd  and  watch'd  the  spic'd  food  with  arch'd  brow ;  tripp'd  his  crisp'd 
feet ;  dash'd,  smash'd,  jump'd,  and  scratch'd  like  a  tax'd  turkey,  burn'd 
and  crisp'd. 

G  takes  three  sounds.  Its  hard  sound,  and  the  manner  of  making 
it,  was  explained  when  treating  of  the  letter  c.  It  sometimes  borrows 
the  second  sound  of  z,  as  in  rotige.  It  also  becomes  the  equivalent 
of  j  in  many  words ;  to  make  which  will  be  explained  when  treating 
of  that  letter. 

Hard  sound  of  G. — A  giddy  gander  got  a  cigar  and  gave  it  to 
a  gangrene  beggar.  Goggles  growled  and  giggled  at  the  giddy  girls, 
gloated  over  the  gruel,  till  a  ghastly  ghost  got  good  game  and  gave 
Brobdignag- green  glass  goggles. 

G  as  J. — A  giant  in  Ghent,  a  genuine  genius  for  gems  and  original 
magic,  exaggerated  the  genealogy  of  Georgius,  the  logical  sergeant, 
germinating  genteel  gingerbread  just  as  the  aborigines  abjured  Geneva, 
Genoa,  and  Germany. 

When  g  takes  the  sound  of  z,  it  occurs  generally  in  French  words 
not  Anglicised. 

J  takes  one  sound,  which  is  semi-vowel ;  in  reality  it  is  a  combina- 
tion of  the  subvowel  d  and  the  aspirate  ch,  as  in  church.  The  tongue 
is  thrown  up  to  obstruct  the  voice-sound,  as  in  producing  the  d  sound, 
and  the  forcible  aspirate  explosion  following  gives  the  sound  of  ch 
referred  to.  Endeavor  to  speak  quickly  the  syllable  j^ip  without 
sounding  the  p,  and  the  sound  of  ^'  will  be  perfectly  rendered.  June, 
July,  Judith;  judge  and  Judaism  joined  judgment;  joyfully  jolting 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  49 

jugs  and  justice;  juvenile  jurymen;  Jupiter;  Julian  joined  juice  and 
julep  in  juxtaposition, 

L  takes  one  uniform  sound  ;  to  make  which  the  mouth  is  open,  and 
the  lips  drawn  back  and  in  at  the  corners ;  the  tongue  is  placed  firmly 
against  the  front  palate  as  in  the  sound  of  d,  and  held  there ;  while  the 
vocalized  breath  is  forced  out  from  the  sides  of  the  tongue  through 
the  open  mouth.  In  this  position  of  the  organ  endeavor  to  speak 
the  syllable  eel.  Lord  Lemuel  Lyall  loved  a  lasslorn  lady,  luckless, 
languid,  and  luxurious ;  she  with  blissful  dalliance  genteelly  listened 
to  his  luckless,  lazy,  illogical  lunacy.  A  lying,  lyrical,  lymphatic 
lynch,  lynx-eyed  an'd  lumpish.  The  lawless  law-maker  lauded  and. 
laughed  at  the  lapidary. 

M  has  one  sound,  which  is  partly  mouth  and  partly  nasal;  i.  e., 
the  voice-sound  is  thrown  up  against  the  firmly  closed  lips,  as  in  the 
sound  of  h,  but  is  thrown  back  and  out  through  the  nose.  Mail  maim'd 
the  main-mast,  mostly  making  malignant  music.  Majestical  mediocrity 
meditates  mean  mechanical  measure,  modified  by  meek  menace.  Mer- 
ciful mercurial  metamorphosis  mastered  the  methodistic  meter. 

N  takes  one  sound,  which  is  also  partly  mouth  and  partly  nasal ; 
but  the  vocal  breath  is  stopped  by  the  tongue  being  firmly  placed 
against  the  roof  of  the  mouth,  as  when  making  the  sounds  of  d  and  e, 
and  thrown  back  through  the  nasal  passage.  Nineteen  nippers,  non- 
concun-ent,  non-essential,  and  nonsensically  nice,  nipped  noisily  at 
ninepins;  a  novel  novice,  notable  with  nosegays,  nourished  naughty 
nurslings  in  nymph-like  nudity. 

N  before  g  and  k  becomes  a  purely  nasal  sound.  The  end  of  the 
tongue  is  placed  against  the  lower  front  teeth,  as  in  producing  the 
sound  of  li  and  g  hard,  wdiile  the  back  part  is  thrown  up  so  as  to 
prevent  any  sound  from  passing  out  through  the  mouth,  forcing  it 
all  through  the  nose.  Ranting,  banking,  cranking,  singing,  sighing, 
smiling,  dying,  crying,  flying,  flanking,  winking,  waking,  sleeping. 

R. — To  make  the  first  sound  of  r  the  teeth  are  nearly  closed,  the 
lips  thrown  out,  and  the  tongue  drawn  back  and  up.  La  this  position 
of  the  organs  try  to  speak  the  syllable  er,  and  the  desired  sound  wiU 
be  obtained.  When  r  occurs  after  a  vowel  it  takes  this  smooth  sound. 
Floor,  more,  word,  sword,  gourd. 

The  second  sound  of  r  is  rough  or  trilled.  To  make  it  the  organs 
are  in  the  same  position  as  when  required  to  produce  the  smooth 
sound ;  but  a  more  forcible  expulsion  of  vocal  air  becomes  necessary 
to  cause  the  vibration  of  the  tongue  required  to  produce  this  trill,  or 
rolling  sound. 

4 


50  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION". 

Trill  the  r.  The  romping,  ragged  rascal,  rash,  raspy,  reaching, 
rearing,  and  recreant,  roamed  in  riotous  revolt.  Ribaldry,  reviving 
rhapsody,  rained  rich  rockets,  riddles,  ribbons,  and  rocks.  The  royal 
roofless  rooster  roared  in  the  rookery,  and  the  rough  ruffian  ruined 
the  Rubicon. 

Note. — Many  persons  have  a  very  affected  and  pernicious  habit  of  making  the  letter  r 
silent  in  all  the  words  they  use.  For  bam  they  say  bahn;  for  f ann,  fah7n ;  for  harm,  hahm,  etc. 
Some  have  a  still  more  exquisite  fanc}',  and  pronounce  bird  as  though  spelled  bu-yed,  sounding 
the  i  like  short  u;  first,  fu-yest;  firs,  fu-ys,  etc. 

V. — This  sound  is  made  in  the  same  manner  as  is/,  but  with  vocal 
breath.  Vainglorious  vagabonds  value  valentines  with  voluptuous 
vanity.  Vampires,  vapors,  and  varnish  vanish  and  vent  venom, 
viperous,  virile,  and  valid. 

W  has  two  sounds.  The  first  is  a  close  vowel-sound  of  oo,  as  in 
ooze,  preceded  by  a  slight  aspirate,  giving  a  wavy  sound  that  oo  does 
not  possess.  It  takes  this  sound  before  vowels.  The  warden  washed 
the  wall,  wisely  warming  the  water  with  wonderful  wood,  wormy  and 
worthless. 

The  second  sound  is  a  pure  aspirate.  To  make  it  place  the  lips 
as  though  you  were  going  to  whistle,  blowing  a  short  breath  through 
the  lips.  It  usually  takes  this  sound  before  h.  Which,  whiggish, 
what,  whimsical,  whip-stock,  whooi3ing,  whistle. 

X  (g  z,  k  s)  is  in  fact  a  character  representing  four  sounds.  It 
takes  two  sounds,  a  subvocal  and  an  aspirate,  both  of  which  are  a 
union  of  two  sounds.  The  subvocal  takes  the  sound  of  g  hard  and 
of  3  (gz),  while  the  aspirates  (ks)  are  but  the  correlatives.  As  a 
particular  description  of  the  manner  of  making  these  sounds  has  been 
already  given,  it  will  only  be  necessary  to  unite  them — g  z,  subvowels ; 
ks,  aspirates. 

At  the  beginning  of  words  x  takes  the  sound  of  z.  In  such  cases 
it  is  a  vocal  sound,  and  the  g  sound  is  silent;  as  Xerda,  Xenophon. 
Should  the  real  sound  of  the  letter  be  pronounced,  it  would  be  exactly 
as  though  spelled  Gzenophon,  Gzenia,  having  the  same  sound  that  it 
does  in  exist,  exile.  It  will  be  well  to  remember  this  analysis  to  pre- 
vent any  stumbling. 

When  X  is  the  first  letter  of  the  word  the  g  sound  is  silent,  and  the 
words  pronounced  as  though  written  Zenia,  Zenophon.  The  xanthic 
xystus,  with  xylotile  Xylopia,  received  a  xylographer  with  xylites 
xylophilan.     Xerxes  and  Xenophon  from  Xenia. 

Words  in  which  x  takes  the  subvowel -sound:  Exalt  the  exactor 
and  exaggerate  the  examination  with  exactitude,  and  exasperate  the 
examiner  with  exotic  exultation. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 


51 


It  takes  the  ks  sound  in  the  following :  Extort  the  exquisite  expert 
and  extinguish  the  expectant  explainer;  extirpate  the  extorter  in 
extemporal  exegesis. 

Such  words  as  the  following  sound  as  though  spelled  with  the  word 
commencing  with  the  letter  x — play  upon  xes :  Charles  X. ,  x-king  of 
France,  was  xtravagantly  xtoll'd,  but  is  xceedingly  xecrated.  He 
xperienced  xtraordinary  xcellences;  he  was  xcellent  in  xternals,  but 
xtrinsic  in  xtasy;  he  was  xtatic  in  xpression,  xtreme  in  xcitement, 
and  xtraordinary  in  xtempore  xpression.  He  was  xpatriated  for  his 
xcesses,  and  to  xpiate  his  xtravagance  was  xcluded,  and  xpired  in 
xpulsion. 

Digraphs. 

Oi. — The  manner  of  producing  this  sound  was  described  under  the 
letter  j,  of  which  it  is  the  aspirate  correspondent.  It  takes  the  sound 
of  sh  in  some  Avords,  as  in  chaise.  In  words  derived  from  the  ancient 
languages  ch  is  generally  hard,  like  k;  as,  chemistry,  Chaldee,  Mel- 
chisedec.  If  we  reverse  the  order  of  this  combination  in  its  soft 
sound,  and  prolong  the  c,  we  get  a  certain  significant  expression  of 
hate  and  disgust.  Snakes  and  geese  use  this  sound  when  irritated 
or  alarmed;  and  even  men  have  been  known  to  express  themselves 
by  a  vigorous  use  of  these  sounds.  Persons,  however,  who  hiss  this 
language  seem  to  know  intuitively  how  to  utter  it  without  any  ex- 
planation here.  But  to  return  and  discuss  the  regular  English  sound 
of  this  digraph.  There  is  a  very  useful  agent,  for  the  convenience  of 
mankind,  which  has  been  invented  since  snakes,  geese,  and  men  were 
created.  If  you  wish  to  hear  how  clearly  and  rapidly  it  utters  this 
sound  listen  to  the  locomotive  when  it  is  just  put  in  motion — ch,  ch, 
ch,  ch,  ch,  etc. 

Sh  has  also  been  described,  as  it  is  the  aspirate  correlative  of  the 
second  sound  of  z. 

Ph  usually  takes  the  sound  of/ — Phil-o-mel,  Phi-pher.  According 
to  some  lexicographers,  in  the  words  nephew  and  Stephens,  they  take 
the  sound  of  v.     In  some  words  the  h  is  silent — nap/i-tha. 

Gh  (oiigh).  This  combination  can  hardly  be  called  a  digraph,  as  it 
has  no  sound  specifically  its  own.  At  the  beginning  of  words  the  h  is 
silent,  and  at  the  end  of  words  both  letters  are  generally  silent.  In 
some  words  it  takes  the  sound  of/,  as  in  laugh  and  cough.  In  others, 
when  preceded  by  ou,  it  takes  the  sound  of  iv,  as  in  furlough — the  ugh  is 
silent.  In  through  it  takes  the  close  sound  of  oo;  and  in  thorough  the 
entire  ough  is  sounded  like  short  u.  Altogether  it  is  a  tough  combi- 
nation of  letters  to  rely  upon,  but  perhaps  a  good  arrangement  for 


52  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

suggesting  a  guess;  or,  what  would  be  more  satisfactory  perhaps,  it 
gives  one  the  freedom  of  choice  when  it  occurs  in  proper  names. 
Greenough,  Clough,  Vaughn,  Brough,  Brougham. 

Th  has  its  two  sounds,  aspirate  and  voice.  These  sounds  are  made 
by  placing  the  end  of  the  tongue  against  the  edge  of  the  upper  front 
teeth.  To  make  the  aspirate-sound,  as  in  thin,  the  breath  is  simply 
blown  through.  In  the  vocal  sound,  as  in  this,  the  vocal  breath  is 
blown  through,  making  a  buzzing  sound.  This,  those,  that,  them, 
thine. 

Of  wh  we  have  already  treated  under  the  letter  w. 


CHAPTER  XL 


Articulation — Gymnastics  of  the  Voiced— Exercises  for  Kunning  the 
Gauntlet — The  "Leader"  Exercise. 

The  great  obstacle  to  articulation  lies  in  the  pupil  not  being  able 
to  articulate  aspirate  and  subvowel-sounds,  particularly  when  they 
come  together  in  one  syllable,  or  follow  each  other  in  different  syllables. 
Articulation  generally  is  so  poor  that  the  following  table  is  inserted 
for  the  purpose  of  affording  gymnastic  exercises.  Let  no  one  neglect 
this  practice.  Let  them  be  pronounced  and  spelled.  In  classes,  one 
pupil  may  pronounce  and  the  next  one  spell,  and  the  speller  pronounce 
the  next  word  for  spelling,  and  so  on  around  the  class.  Each  one  will 
then  discover  in  what  condition  his  or  her  articulating  powers  are. 

Remember,  exactness  and  grace  go  together  in  other  gymnastic 
exercises — fencing,  riding,  boxing — so  do  not  slight  these  nobler 
gymnastics  of  the  voice. 

Exercises  for  Articulation. 

A-rm,  a-rm'o?,  a-rms,  A-rm'st,  &-r7nJdst]  bu-rn,  bu-rn'c?,  \)\x-rnt,  u-rns,  ea-rw's/, 
QSk-rn! d' st\  ha-77),  \ia,-rp'd,  ha-rps;  hea-rse,  fea-r'si^,  hn-rsts;  hea-r<,  hea-rfe; 
Yia-rtst;  or-Vd,  -p^o-b'd'st;  a-ble,  tvou-bl'd,  trou-bVd'si,  tvon-bles,  tro\i-bl'st; 
57'-and;  ri-bs,  vih-b'st;  pro-6es. 

A  thousaiid  shrieks  for  hopeless  mercy  call.  It  was  the  severest  storm  of  the 
season,  hut  the  masts  stood  through  the  gale. 

Cajv-dle,  h&n-dVd,  can-dies,  fon-dl'st;  dr-ove;  dee-ds;  hrea.-dth,  hvea-dths; 
ree-fd,   vee-fd'st;  Jl-ame^  tri-Ji'd,  tv'i-Jl'st,  tri-Jles;  /y-ame;  lau-^As,  }a\i-gh'st; 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTIOISr.  53 

Vf&-ft,  -wa-fts,  wei-fi'st;  cli-^^s;  hrag-ffed,  hr&g-g'd'st;  gl^ow,  hag-gled,  mar\-gles, 
ra&n-gUst;  gi'-ave;  hstrck'd;  \in-cle,  tm-kl'd,  truc-kles,  truc-kCst,  truc-kl'dst; 
hlac-ken,  hlac-ken' d,  h\&c-kens,  \>\&c-keri' st,  hla.c-ken'd'st;  cr-oney;  thin-As, 
thin-k' st;  e-lbe,  hu-lb'd,  ha-lbs;  ho-ld,  ho-lds,  ho-UTst;  e-lf,  e-lfs,  de-lft  ware; 
hu-lge;  mi-Ik,  m'l-lk'd,  si-Iks,  nrn-lct,  mu-lcts;  e-lm,  whe-lni'd,  whe-lms;  ia-lVn. 

"  Fair  ladies  masked  are  roses  in  their  buds, 
Dismask'd  their  damask  sweet  commixture  shown, 
Are  angels  veiling  clouds,  or  roses  blown." 

His  acts  being  seven  ages.  The  acts  of  the  apostles.  This  act  more  than 
a>l  other  acts  of  the  legislature  laid  the  axe  at  the  root  of  the  evil.  On  either 
side  an  ocean  exists.  On  neither  side  a  notion  exists.  When  Ajax  strives  some 
rock's  vast  weight  to  throw.  Then  rustling,  crackling,  crashing  thunder  down. 
The  magistrates  ought  to  prove  the  charge.  The  magistrates  sought  to  prove 
the  charge. 

Nature  can  only  lay  the  foundation ;  the  superstructure,  with  all  its  orna- 
ments, is  the  work  of  education.  Although  those  noble  gifts  of  mind,  without 
which  no  one  can  become  an  eloquent  speaker,  are  from  nature's  God,  yet 
articulation,  the  elements,  quantity,  etc.,  are  to  be  learned. 

He  proposed  an  amicable  adjustment  of  all  difficulties.  "We  must  fight  it 
through.  It  must  be  so.  After  the  most  straitest  sect.  This  was  the  most 
unkindest  cut. 

Jlea-lth,  hca-ltJis;  ento-^nb^d;  Hu-m/)A-rey;  atte-mpt,  atte-mpts;  to-??ibs, 
ento-mb^st;  a-nd,  ha-nds,  se-nd'st;  ra-nge,  ra-ngd;  thi-nk,  ihi-nks,  thi-nk^st 
se-nt,  -wa-nfst,  wa-nts;  6.-ns;  &i-tich,  &i-nch'd;  wi-tic^d;  pi-^s,  wa-^s^;  hed-ged 
ha-ng^d;  so-ngs;  stre-ngth,  stre-ngths;  ^^uck,  rip-pled,  rip-pies,  rip-^j^s^;  ^?'-ay 
cli-ps,  ni-p'st;  he-rb,  ha-rb^d,  he-rbs,  ha-rVst,  'ba-7-b^d'st;  ha-rd,  ha-7'ds,  hea-7-d'st 
su-rf,  wha-?/'c?;  bu-?'^A,  bu-j'f^/ts;  ba-r^re,  i\-rg'd;  ha-?'A',  ha-rk'd,  a-rcs,  ba-rA's^, 
ba-rA'aTs^;  sna-rl,  hii-rl'd,  szia-7-ls,  sna-rl'st,  sna-rl'd^st. 

By  indefatigable  study  and  long-continued  practice  the  renowned  orators 
of  antiquity  became  almost  perfect  in  articulation.  They  were  unwilling  that 
even  a  single  error  should  escape  their  lips.  This  is  one  of  the  great  secrets 
of  their  immortality.  They  knew  that  the  faculty  of  speech  is  the  power 
of  giving  sounds  to  thought.     They  were  correct  in  their  views. 

He  was  incapable  of  a   mean   or   questionable   action.     He  was  amiable, 
respectable,  formidable,  unbearable,  intolerable,  utimanageable,  ter7'ible. 
"An  hour  passed  on — the  Turk  awoke; 
That  bright  dream  was  his  last; 
He  woke — to  hear  his  sentries  shriek 
'  To  arms !  they  come !  the  Greek !  the  Greek  1' " 


Do  not  say 


the  Turky  woke; 

That  bright  dream  wazis  las; 
He  woke  to  hear  the  sentry  sriek 

"Too  arms!  they  come!  the  Greek  the  Greek!" 


Articulation  is  the  cutting  out  and  shaping,  in  a  perfectly  distinct 
and  appropriate  manner,  with  the  organs  of  speech  all  the  simple 


54  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

and  compound  sounds  which  our  twenty-six  letters  represent.  It  is 
to  the  ear  what  a  fair  handwriting  is  to  the  eye,  and  relates,  of  course, 
to  the  sounds,  not  to  the  names,  of  both  vowels  and  consonants.  It 
depends  on  the  exact  positions  and  correct  operations  of  the  vocal 
powers,  and  on  the  ability  to  vary  them  with  rapidity,  precision,  and 
effect.  Thus  articulation  is  purely  an  intellectual  act,  and  belongs 
not  to  any  of  the  brute  creation. 

Be  very  particular  in  pronouncing  the  jaw  or  i;o ice-breakers,  and 
cease  not  till  you  can  give  every  sound  fully,  correctly,  and  distinctly. 
If  your  vocal  powers  are  well  exercised  by  faithful  practice  on  the 
more  difficult  combinations,  they  will  acquire  a  facility  of  movement, 
a  precision  of  action,  a  flexibility,  grace,  and  force  truly  surprising. 

The  awful  cruelties,  barbarisms,  horrors,  crimes,  massacres,  and  conflagra- 
tions of  civil  wars,  regardless  of  rights  or  wrongs,  wreak  rough,  wrathful 
revenge  on  your  shrill-shrieking  daughters.  The  forest's  shades  and  the 
fortresses'  foreheads  faced  the  forecastle's  forked  form ;  thatched  the  theft  and 
thaw'd  the  thick  thimble,  thwack  athwart  the  thyroid. 

Self-possession,  under  all  circumstances,  is  a  most  desirable  attain- 
ment. Running  the  gauntlet  will  test  it.  We  have  all  heard  of  the 
practice  that  prevails  among  some  tribes  of  Indians  called  "running 
the  gauntlet."  A  company  is  arranged  in  two  rows,  a  few  yards  apart, 
and  a  prisoner  is  obliged  to  run  between  the  ranks.  Each  throws  his 
hatchet  at  him  as  he  passes,  and  if  he  escapes  this  ordeal  without 
being  killed  he  is  permitted  to  live  without  further  hazard.  In  the 
important  exercise  here  recommended,  each  member  of  the  class, 
after  making  some  proficiency,  memorizes  and  recites  a  strong  and 
powerful  sentence,  and  the  others  try  to  put  out  or  break  down  the 
one  that  is  speaking,  by  all  sorts  of  remarks,  sounds,  looks,  and 
actions,  though  without  touching  him  ;  and  the  gauntlet-speaker  girds 
up  the  loins  of  his  mind  and  endeavors  to  keep  the  fountain  of  feeling 
higher  than  the  streams,  and  so  long  as  he  does  so  he  is  safe ;  but  alas 
for  him  that  shrinks  into  himself  and  yields  to  his  opponents. 

Any  one  who  can  recite  the  following  Avith  expression,  under  the 
noise,  confusion.,  and  jests  of  the  class,  will  have  achieved  a  great 
success : 

'^  Hast  thou,  in  feverish  and  unquiet  sleep, — 
Dreamt — th't  some  mereiless  demon  of  the  air 
Rais'd  thee  aloft, — and  held  thee  by  the  hair 
Over  the  brow — of  a  dowvAooking  steep, 
Gaping,  beloio,  into  a  chasm — so  deep 
Th't,  by  the  utmost  straining  of  thine  eye, 
Thou  canst  no  resting--p\sLCb  descry; 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  55 

Not  e'en  a  bush — to  save  thee,  shouldst  thou  sweep 

Adown  the  bhick  descent;  that  then  the  hand 

Suddenly  jmrted  thee,  and  left  thee  there, 

Holding — but  by  ^/(^re/'-tips  the  bare 

And  jagged  ridge  above,  that  seems  as  sand 

To  crumble  'neath  thy  touch  ? — If  so,  I  deem 

Th't  thou  hast  had  rather  an  ugly  dream." 

The  following  will  be  easier : 

"Echoed  from  earth  a  hollow  roar 
Like  ocean  on  the  midnight  shore; 
A  sheet  of  lightning  o'er  them  wheeled, 
The  solid  ground  beneath  them  reel'd ; 
In  dust  sank  roof  and  battlement. 
Like  webs  the  giant  walls  were  rent ; 
Red,  broad,  before  his  startled  gaze, 
The  monarch  saw  his  Egypt  blaze. 
Still  swelled  the  plague — the  flame  grew  pale; 
Burst  from  the  clouds  the  charge  of  hail ; 
With  arrowy  keenness,  iron  weight, 
Down  poured  the  ministers  of  fate; 
Till  man  and  cattle,  crushed,  congealed, 
Covered  with  death  the  boundless  field." 

"  Eoll  proudly  on  1  brave  blood  is  with  thee  sweeping, 

Poured  out  by  sons  of  thine, 
"When  sword  and  spirit  forth  in  joy  were  leaping 

Like  thee,  victorious  Ehine  ! 
Go,  tell  the  seas  that  chain  shall  bind  thee  never ; 

Sound  on,  by  hearth  and  shrine ; 
Sing  through  the  hills  that  thou  art  free  forever  ; 

Lift  up  thy  voice,  O  Ehine !  " 

Vir.     How!  is  it  something  can't  be  told 
At  once?     Speak  out,  boy  !     Ha!  your  looks  are  loaded 
With  matter.     Is 't  so  heavy  that  your  tongue 
Can  not  unburden  them  ?     Your  brotlier  left 
The  camp  on  duty  yesterday — hath  aught 
Happened  to  him  ?     Did  he  arrive  in  safety  ? 
Is  he  safe  ?     Is  he  well  ? 

In  the  hader  exercises  one  reads  until  he  or  she  makes  a  mistake 
in  articulation,  the  entire  class  being  critics  for  the  occasion.  The 
moment  the  leader  makes  a  mistake  the  next  one  takes  up  the  w'ord, 
repronounces  it,  and  proceeds  until  he  is  dethroned  by  an  error,  and  so 
on  around  the  class.  This  is  an  exciting  exercise,  and  requires  all  to 
have  their  eyes  and  ears  open  and  their  tongues  supple.  All  must 
be  careful  to  mind  the  "stops." 


56  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Exercise  1.  Cicero  and  Demosthenes. — An  orator,  addressing  himself 
more  to  the  passions,  naturally  has  much  passionate  ardor;  whilst  another, 
possessing  an  elevation  of  style  and  majestic  gravity,  is  never  cold,  though  he 
has  not  the  same  vehemence.  In  this  respect  do  these  great  orators  differ. 
Detnosthenes — abounds  in  concise  sublimity ;  Cicero, — in  diffuseness :  the  former, 
on  account  of  his  destroying  and  consuming  everything  by  his  violence,  rapidity, 
strength,  and  vehemence,  may  be  compared  to  a  hurricane  or  thunderbolt ;  the 
latter,  to  a  wide  extended  conflagration,  spreading  in  every  direction  with  a 
great,  constant,  and  irresistible  flame. 

Exercise  2.  The  Power  of  Imagination. 
The  hcnatic,  the  lover,  and  the  poet 
Are  of  imagination — all  compact: 
One — sees  more  devils — than  vast  hell  can  hold ; 
That — is  the  madman.     The  lover,  all  as  frantic, 
Sees  Helen's  beauty — in  a  brow  of  Egypt. 
The  poet's  eye,  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling, 

Doth  glance  from  heaven — to  earth,  from  earth — to  heaven  ; 
And,  as  imagination — bodies  forth 
The  forms  of  things  unknown,  the  poefspen 
Forms  them  to  shapes,  and  gives  to  airy  nothing 
A  local  habitation  and  a  name." 

Exercise  3.  The  Human  Voice. — Among  all  the  wonderful  varieties 
of  artificial  instruments  which  discourse  excellent  music,  where  shall  we  find 
one  that  can  be  compared  to  the  human  voice?  And  where  can  we  find 
an  instrument  comparable  to  the  human  mind,  upon  whose  stops  the  real 
musician,  the  poet,  and  the  orator  sometimes  lays  his  hands,  and  avails  himself 
of  the  entire  compass  of  its  magnificent  cajjacities ?  Oh!  the  length,  the  breadth, 
the  height,  and  the  depth  of  music  and  eloquence  ! 

Exercise  4.  Self-sacrificing  Ambition. — We  need  a  loftier  ideal  to 
nerve  us  for  heroic  lives.  To  know  and  feel  our  nothingness  without  regretting 
it;  to  deem  fame,  riches,  personal  happiness,  but  shadows  of  which  human 
good  is  the  substance;  to  welcome  pain,  privation,  ignominy,  so  that  the  sphere 
of  human  knowledge,  the  empire  of  virtue,  be  thereby  extended :  such  is  the 
soul's  temper  in  which  the  heroes  of  the  coming  age  shall  be  cast.  When  the 
stately  monuments  of  mightiest  conquerors  shall  have  become  shapeless  and 
forgotten  ruins,  the  humble  graves  of  earth's  Howards  and  Frys  shall  still  be 
freshened  by  the  tears  of  fondly  admiring  millions,  and  the  proudest  epitaph 
shall  be  the  simple  entreaty, 

"  Write  me  as  one  who  loved  his  fellow-men." 


MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION.  57 


CHAPTER   XII. 

Accent — Inflection — Emphasis — Cadence. 

Accent  takes  its  place  in  the  orthoepy  of  words.  Inflection  gives 
true  expression  to  words.     Emphasis  defines  their  value  in  a  sentence. 

By  accent  we  divide  the  sounds  in  a  word  into  syllables  (so  called), 
and  by  giving  more  stress  to  one  particular  combination  than  to  the 
others  we  enunciate  the  word  properly. 

The  rudimental  principles  of  accent  and  emphasis,  and  the  manner 
of  producing  them,  were  given  in  the  exercises  for  the  vowel-sounds. 
We  have  been  very  particular  in  directing  attention  to  the  distinctive 
characteristics  of  the  vowel,  subvowel,  and  aspirate-sounds,  and  to 
their  distinctive  utterance  in  all  words  wherein  they  are  sounded. 

Words  are  made  up  of  one  or  more  syllables ;  but  if  we  pronounce 
all  the  syllables  with  equal  stress  of  voice,  the  result,  so  far  as  sound 
is  concerned,  will  be  that  no  word  has  been  articulated.  Therefore 
accent  is  the  discreting  clement  of  words,  and  plays  the  important 
part  of  directing  their  pronunciation,  and  giving  beauty  and  individ- 
uality to  their  proportions. 

Some  words,  meaning  very  different  things,  are  spelled  alike,  and 
distinguished  by  their  accentuation  alone;  that  is,  the  stress  is 
placed  on  one  syllable  in  the  one  and  on  another  syllable  in  the 
other;  as,  Aii-gust,  the  name  of  a  month,  and  au-gust,  an  adjective 
expressing  something  grand  or  majestic.  So  also  many  other  words 
differ  in  meaning  Avhen  used  to  represent  different  parts  of  speech. 

The  j)ronunciation  of  the  English  language,  like  most  others,  is 
arbitrary,  and,  like  other  things,  is  exposed  to  the  caprices  of  fashion 
and  taste,  and  not  unfrequently  to  vulgarism ;  but  its  most  deadly  foe 
is  affectation.  Provincialisms  break  in  upon  uniform  rules ;  and  all 
combined  leave  but  a  very  uncertain  clew  to  direct  us  in  the  use  of 
accent.  Orthoepists  disagree,  and  it  is  not  the  province  of  this  work 
to  decide.  What  is  required  by  us  is  that  on  whatever  syllable  the 
accent  is  placed  it  shall  be  clearly,  distinctly,  and  musically  rendered. 

Accent  embraces  three  functions — Stress,  Time,  and  Pitch — which 
we  will  illustrate  as  follows : 


58  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

AccoU  denotes  pitch,  or  the  stepping  down  or  up  from  a  note  or 
half-note,  as  the  case  may  be. 

Pitch  and  time  may  both  be  represented  in  the  word  ac-cent  so  as 
to  correspond  to  one  note  and  a  half-note  in  music,  the  accented  sylla- 
ble taking  the  whole  note.     The  following  will  make  it  plain : 

Ac      -      rr.nt 


The  forcible  prolongation  of  pitch  on  a  particular  syllable  is  called 
accent.  Any  one  who  is  well  acquainted  with  the  musical  scale, 
though  never  having  practiced  with  reference  to  speech,  may  readily 
a.scertain  this  upAvard  and  downward  intonation  of  the  tones  and 
semitones  by  catching  the  note  of  the  vowel -sound,  and  striking  its 
corresponding  tone  or  key  on  some  instrument.  The  aspirates  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  music  of  the  voice. 

Rule. — The  accented  syllable  should  be  made  more  forcible  in 
utterance  and  of  greater  prolongation  than  other  syllables  in  the 
word,  and  on  either  a  higher  or  lower  pitch  of  voice. 

It  will  be  well  to  recall  what  has  been  before  frequently  said  about 
the  functions  of  the  vowels  as  the  conveying  element  of  the  v*ord. 
The  following  arrangement  of  syllables  will  indicate  the  ranges  of 
voice  when  properly  accentuating  a  Avord : 

.cent.  .cent,         -^       ^tion. 

Ac/  Ac/         ^u/ 

Any  combination  of  sounds  that  represent  distinct  ideas,  though 
they  be  monosyllables,  may  be  said  to  have  accent.  But  accent  is 
more  clearly  discernible  in  words  of  two  or  more  syllables ;  for  it  is 
the  thread  Avith  Av^hich  Ave  unite  letters  and  syllables  into  Avords. 

There  ha\'e  been  some  critical  discussions  on  the  subject  of  the 
change  of  pitch  Avhich  accent  requires.  Sheridan,  in  an  elaborate 
treatise  on  accent,  declares  it  to  be  simple  force  on  a  syllable,  and 
likens  it  to  "the  hard  and  soft  taps  on  a  drum-head,"  Avhich  are 
exactly  on  the  same  pitch,  the  more  forcible  tap  producing  the  louder 
sound.  Accent  can  be  produced  exactly  in  this  Avay,  and  in  our 
rudimentary  practice  of  accent  on  the  vowel-sounds  Ave  haA'^e  so  giA'en 
it.  But  to  say  that  the  accented  and  unaccented  syllables  in  Avords 
are  always  on  the  same  pitch  is  to  make  a  statement  that  can  not  be 
true,  and  which  must  have  arisen  from  an  uncultivated  ear. 

So  little  attention  has  been  giA'^en  to  the  cultivation  and  detection 
of  the  delicate  shades  of  voice-sound  that  the  ear  is  rarely  able  to 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  59 

catch  and  discriminate  closely  the  short  and  delicate  steps  which 
a  cultivated  voice  takes  in  the  accentuation  of  a  word  of  several 
syllables. 

Sheridan  further  says  that  the  difference  between  our  accent  and 
that  of  the  Greek  depends  upon  its  seat,  which  always  occurs  on  a 
vowel  in  the  latter,  while  ours  may  be  either  on  a  vowel  or  a  conso- 
nant, and  that  the  reason  why  the  Greek  accent  was  placed  over  the 
vowel  was  "that,  as  their  accent  consisted  in  a  change  of  notes,  they 
could  not  be  distinctly  expressed  but  by  the  vowels,  in  uttering  which 
the  passage  is  entirely  clear  for  the  issue  of  the  voice  without  inter- 
ruption or  stop,  as  in  pronouncing  the  consonants." 

But  the  fact  that  consonants  follow  a  vowel  in  a  syllable  should 
make  no  difference  in  the  change  of  notes,  for  the  vowel-sound  ceases 
as  soon  as  it  has  performed  its  mission ;  and  it  should  be  sounded  fully 
and  musically,  whether  it  ends  a  syllable  or  is  followed  by  a  conso- 
nant. This  surely  can  in  no  Avay  effect  a  change  of  note,  for  the 
sound  has  to  be  commenced  anew,  so  that  the  next  vowel-sound  can 
take  another  note  just  as  easily  as  it  can  resume  the  same  sound. 
Besides,  the  musical  effect  of  speech  depends  much  upon  the  purity 
of  the  vowel-sound,  and  the  modulation  of  voice  which  the  change 
of  pitch  in  accent  gives. 

Eead  the  following  with  due  attention  to  accent  and  articulation. 
Do  not  leave  out  any  letter  that  is  not  silent,  but  give  the  accented 
ones  their  time  and  pitch  : 

DEATH  OF  MORRIS.    By  Walter  Scott. 

It  was  under  the  burning  influence  of  revenge  that  the  wife  of  Mac^rpgor 
commanded  that  the  hostage,  exchanged  for  her  husband's  safety,  should  be 
brought  into  her  presence.  I  believe  her  sons  had  kept  this  unfortunate  wretch 
out  of  her  sight,  for  fear  of  the  consequences ;  but  if  it  was  so,  their  humane 
precaution  only  postponed  his  fate.  They  dragged  forward,  at  her  summons, 
a  wretch,  already  half-dead  with  terror,  in  whose  agonized  features  I  recog- 
nized, to  my  horror  and  astonishment,  my  old  acquaintance  Morris. 

He  fell  prostrate  before  the  female  chief,  with  an  elFort  to  clasp  her  knees, 
from  which  she  drew  back  as  if  his  touch  had  been  pollution;  so  that  all  he 
could  do,  in  token  of  the  extremity  of  his  humiliation,  was  to  kiss  the  hem 
of  her  plaid.  I  never  heard  entreaties — for  life  poured  forth  with  such  agony 
of  spirit.  The  ecstasy  of  fear  was  such  that,  instead  of  paralyzing  his  tongue, 
as  on  ordinary  occasions,  it  even  rendered  him — eloquent;  and  with  cheeks  as 
pale  as  ashes, — hands  compressed  in  agony, — eyes  that  seemed  to  be  taking 
their  last  look  of  all  mortal  objects,  he  protested,  with  the  deepest  oaths,  his 
total  ignorance  of  any  design  on  the  life  of  Eob  Roy, — whom  he  swore  he 
loved  and  honored  as  his  own  soul.     In  the  inconsistency  of  his  terror,  he  said 


60  MANUAL  OP  ELOCUTION. 

he  was  but  the  agent  of  others;  and  he  muttered  the  name  of  Kashleigh.  He 
prayed  but  for  life ;  for  life — he  would  give  all  he  had  in  the  world ; — it  was 
but  life  he  asked ; — life^  if  it  were  to  be  prolonged  under  tortures  and  priva- 
tions ; — he  asked  only  breath,  though  it  should  be  drawn  in  the  damps  of  the 
lowest  caverns  of  their  hills. 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  scorn,  the  loathing  and  contempt,  with  which 
the  wife  of  Macgregor  regarded  this  wretched  petitioner — for  the  poor  boon 
of  existence. 

"  I  could  have  bid  you  live"  she  said,  "  had  life  been  to  you  the  same  weary 
and  wasting  burden — that  it  is  to  me — that  it  is  to  every  nohle — and  generous 
mind.  But  you, — wretch !  you  could  creep  through  the  world  unaffected  by  its 
various  disgraces,  its  ineffable  miseries,  its  constantly-accumulating  masses  of 
crime  and  sorrow ; — you  could  live  and  enjoy  yourself,  while  the  noble-minded 
are  betrayed, — while  nameless — and  birthless  villains  tread  on  the  neck  of  the 
brave  and  long-descended ; — you  could  enjoy  yourself,  like  a  butcher's  dog  in  the 
shambles, — battening  on  garbage,  while  the  slaughter  of  the  brave  went  on 
around  you !  This  enjoyment  you  shall  not  live  to  partake  of;  you  shall  die, — 
base  dog,  and  that  before  yon  cloud  has  passed  over  the  sun." 

She  gave  a  brief  command,  in  Gaelic,  to  her  attendants,  two  of  whom 
seized  upon  the  prostrate  suppliant  and  hurried  him  to  the  brink  of  a  cliff 
which  overhung  the  flood.  He  set  up  the  most  piercing  and  dreadful — cries 
that  fear  ever  uttered; — I  may  well  term  them — dreadful,  for  they  haunted 
my  sleep  for  years  afterward.  As  the  murderers, — or  executioners,  call  them 
as  you  will,  dragged  him  along,  he  recognized  me,  even  in  that  moment  of 
horror,  and  exclaimed,  in  the  last  articulate  words  I  ever  heard  him  utter, 
"  O  Mr.  Osbaldistone,  save  me ! — save  me !  " 

I  was  so  much  moved  by  this  horrid  spectacle  that,  although  in  momentary 
expectation  of  sharing  his  fate,  I  did  attempt  to  speak  in  his  behalf;  but,  as 
might  have  been  expected,  my  interference  was  sternly  disregarded.  The 
victim  was  held  fast  by  some,  while  others,  binding  a  large  heavy  stone  in  a 
plaid,  tied  it  around  his  neck,  and  others  again  eagerly  stripped  him  of  some 
part  of  his  dress.  Half-naked,  and  thus  manacled,  they  hurried  him  into  the 
lake,  there  about  twelve  feet  deep, — drowning  his  last  death-shriek  with  a  loud 
halloo  of  vindictive  triumph,  over  which,  however,  the  yell  of  mortal  agony — 
Wiis  distinctly  heard.  The  heavy  burden  splashed  in  the  dark -blue  waters  of 
the  lake ;  and  the  Highlanders,  with  their  pole-axes  and  swords,  watched  an 
instant,  to  guard  lest,  extricating  himself  from  the  load  to  which  he  was 
attached,  he  might  have  struggled  to  regain  the  shore.  But  the  knot  had  been 
securely  bound ;  the  victim  sank  without  effort ;  the  waters,  which  his  fall  had 
disturbed,  settled  calmly  over  him ;  and  the  unit  of  that  life  for  which  he  had 
pleaded  so  strongly  was  forever  withdrawn  from  the  sum  of  human  existence. 

Inflections  embrace  the  concrete  or  continuous  movements  of 
voice  on  a  single  word ;  but  cadence  has  reference  to  the  fall  or 
proper  closing  of  sentences.  The  cadence  which  is  most  pleasing  to 
the  ear  is  the  fall  of  a  triade,  or  regular  gradation  of  three  notes, 
from  the  prevalent  pitch  of  voice.     Therefore  these  two  movements 


MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION.  61 

of  voice  should  never  be  confounded.  Cadence  never  occurs  properly 
in  the  middle  of  a  sentence,  nor  should  a  sentence  ever  end  with  a 
feeble  and  depressed  utterance.  All  the  slender  characteristics  of 
voice  are  embraced  in  inflections. 

Inflection  and  emphasis  are  closely  related ;  in  many  respects  they 
seem  to  mean  so  nearly  the  same  thing  that  it  is  quite  difficult  to  treat 
them  as  separate  subjects.  We  can  scarcely  give  a  decided  inflection 
to  a  word  without  its  becoming,  in  consequence,  more  or  less  emphatic. 
Nor  can  a  word  receive  important  emphasis  without  taking  an  inflec- 
tion. Yet  each  has  its  own  specific  function,  notwithstanding  both 
are  required  to  give  a  full  expression  of  the  thought. 

While  treating  upon  accent,  Ave  demonstrated  that  it  has  its  own 
specific  mission;  which  is  to  give  character  to  a  word,  or  rather 
individuality,  by  throwing  more  stress  and  prolongation  on .  one  syl- 
lable than  on  others,  the  accented  syllable  being  uttered  on  a  different 
pitch  of  voice  from  the  rest. 

Inflection  gives  character  and  expression  to  the  thought  by  point- 
ing out  all  the  delicate  shades  of  meaning  contained  in  the  word. 
The  true  meaning  of  words,  from  the  lips  of  the  person  pronouncing 
them,  can  never  be  misunderstood  if  the  proper  inflections  are  given — 
whether  of  pleasure  or  contempt,  fact  or  irony,  love  or  hate,  truth  or 
falsehood. 

Inflectioxs  are  the  subtle  exponents  of  the  state  of  feeling  expressed 
in  speech. 

It  has  been  said  that  human  speech  was  invented  for  the  purpose 
of  hiding  our  thoughts.  This  statement  need  not  be  taken  as  correct 
by  any  means ;  for,  although  human  speech  conveys  many  falsehoods 
which  we  receive  and  believe,  it  is  only  so  because  we  have  not  learned 
to  hear  correctly.  When  we  have  learned  what  certain  intonations 
express,  we  can  not  well  accept  a  falsehood  from  human  lips.  Truth 
and  falsehood  can  not  be  represented  alike  by  vocality.  Each  uses 
unconsciously  its  own  tell-tale  inflection,  for  each  has  a  way  of 
expression  peculiar  to  itself.  Our  business  is  to  learn  hoiv  things 
express  themselves.     (See  Gesture  and  Deportment.) 

The  modifications  of  inflections  are  four;  viz.,  the  rising,  falling, 
the  wave  or  circumflex,  and  the  intense  monotone.  These  will  be 
marked  in  the  following  examples  by  these  signs : —    — ^   — ^ 

The  rising  inflection  turns  the  voice  upward  on  a  word  or  sentence ; 
as,  Are  you  going  West  ?  All  direct  questions  that  can  be  answered 
by  yes  or  no  take  this  inflection.  Indeed,  nearly  all  simple  questions 
take  it. 


62  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

In  addressing  individuals  or  an  audience  use  the  rising  inflection  ; 
as,  " Miss  Smith ; "  "Mr.  Brown;"  "Ladies  and  gentlemen." 

"Fellow-citizens,  I  am  here  to  defend  this  cause."  In  this  example 
the  sense  is  continuous  to  the  close  of  the  sentence.  But  if  we  say, 
"  Fellow-citizens,  I  am  here  to  defend  this  cause,"  the  falling  inflection 
before  the  sense  is  complete  makes  a  meaningless  expression.  "I  am 
here  to  defend  this  cause"  sounds  as  if  a  new  sentence  had  been  com- 
menced. Besides,  the  falling  inflection  used  in  addressing  a  person 
is  expressive  of  contempt,  more  or  less,  according  to  the  amount 
of  circumflex  used  in  the  downward  pointing  of  the  voice;  as,  "Mr. 
Brown — Mr.  Brown — Mr.  Brown."  If  the  desire  is  to  express  con- 
tempt for  persons,  then  this  inflection  is  appropriate ;  but  never  give 
the  falling  inflection  to  a  name  you  desire  to  present  respectfully. 

Exercises. 

"  Friends,  Komans,  countrymen !  Lend  me — your  ears.  I  come  to  bury 
Caesar,  not  to  praise  him." 

"  But  thou,  O  Hope  !  with  eyes  so  fair, 
What  was  thy  delighted  measure  ?  " 

"  Kind  friends,  at  your  call 
I  'm  come  here  to  sing, 
Or  rather  to  talk,  of  my  woes." 

"Fathers,  we  once  again  are  met  in  council." 

"  Mr.  Chairman — I  trust,  that  I  shall  he  indulged  in  a  few  reflections  on 
the  danger  of  permitting  the  conduct — upon  which  it  has  been  my  painful 
duty  to  animadvert — to  pass  without  a  solemn  expression  of  the  disapprobation 
of  this  house." 

"Falstaff.  Master  Brook,  you  shall  hear.  As  good  luck  would  have  it, 
comes  in  one  Mrs.  Page,  gives  her  intelligence  of  Ford's  approach,  and  by  her 
invention,  and  Ford's  wife's  direction, — I  was  conveyed  into  a  buck-basket. 

"Brook.     A  buck-basket ? 

''Fid.     Yea ;— buck-basket." 

Great  care  should  be  observed  lest  in  reading  the  voice  acquire 
the  habit  of  taking  the  full  falling  inflection  in  the  middle  of  a  sen- 
tence. Such  a  practice  produces  a  very  monotonous  effect,  and  makes 
it  difficult  for  the  listener  to  follow  the  chain  of  thought.  Many 
speakers  fall  into  this  error  in  their  endeavor  to  obtain  a  solemn, 
impressive  manner.  Another  equally  pernicious  habit  is  a  sort  of 
rainbow  style,  or  reading  on  a  curve.  This  is  equally  solemn,  and 
quite  as  somnolent  as  the  other — is  much  employed  in  reading  hymns 
and  poetry  generally. 


MAISTUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  63 

Exercise, 
,   no  dreams  of  care  are  .^ 
a\ec^     .Vous  thoughts,  that  n^ay  J^S 

The  voice  here  rises  in  the  middle  of  the  lines,  and  falls  at  each 
end.  It  is  well  to  respect  the  ear  and  good  sense  of  an  audience ;  and 
the  above  style  of  reading  any  composition  can  only  be  used  with 
propriety  and  effect  when  the  speaker  wishes  to  soothe  listeners  into 
a  quiet  slumber.  It  is  meaningless,  and  of  course  can  excite  no 
attention.  The  proper  use  of  inflections  is  to  give  expression  to  the 
thought.  Affectation  has  its  own  inflection,  which  is  easily  detected ; 
therefore  beware  of  the  misuse  of  these  delicate  and  trutliful  expo- 
nents of  thought  and  feeling. 

Rules  for  the  Falling  Ixflection. — Falling  inflection  is  a 
turning  of  the  voice  downward  on  a  word,  lower  than  it  began.  It  is 
ahvays  heard  in  the  answer  to  a  question;  as,  "Yes;  I  shall  go  next 
week."  Also  in  affirmative  sentences;  as,  "I  shall  do  so."  And  in 
the  language  of  authority;  as,  "Back  to  thy  punishment,  false 
fugitive,  and  to  thy  speed  add  wungs."  Also  of  terror;  as,  "The 
light  burns  blue,"  In  the  surprise  of  indignation;  as,  "Go,  false 
fellow!  and  let  me  never  see  your  face  again."  In  contempt;  as, 
"I  had  as  lief  not  be  as  live  to  be  in  awe — of  such  a  thing — as 
myself."  And  of  exclamation;  as,  "O  heaven!  O  earth!"  And 
always  in  the  final  pause  (not  the  interrogative  form)  where  the  sense 
and  sentence  are  completed.     All  general  rules  have  some  exceptions. 

Exajmples  in  Bising  and  Falling  Inflections. 

"Are  they  ministers  of  Christ?     Are  they  Jews?"     "They  are." 
"Did  you  not  speak  tolt?"     "My  lord,  I^." 
"Armed,  say  you?"     "Armed,  my  lord." 

In  conversation  people  are  nearly  always  right  in  their  use  of  in- 
flections. In  reading  or  reciting  they  are  usually  wrong.  Therefore 
it  is  W' ell  to  train  the  ear  to  colloquial  language  by  close  attention ; 
also  to  cultivate  the  voice  by  breaking  up  sentences  wherein  difficul- 
ties occur,  putting  them  in  colloquial  form  for  the  practice  of  inflec- 
tion. They  who  do  this  will  soon  see  how  foolish  and  unnatural  has 
been  their  use  of  what  should  be  delicate  exponents  of  feeling.  Of 
course  it  will  be  understood  that  there  is  a  great  difference  between 


64  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

the  delicate  turning  of  the  voice  on  a  word  in  a  sentence  and  the  full 
falling  cadence  of  a  closing  period. 

Or.  When  or  in  its  di.'yunctive  sense  connects  words  and  clauses 
of  an  interrogatory  character,  the  rising  inflection  occurs  before  it 
and  the  falling  after  it.  "Will  you  speak — or  be  silent?"  "What 
prompted  you,  love — or  hate?"  This  implies  that  the  question  can 
not  be  answered  by  yes  or  no,  but  demands  an  explanation. 

When  or  is  used  in  a  conjunctive  form,  and  can  be  replied  to  by 
yes  or  no,  it  is  usually  followed  by  the  rising  inflection.  "Shall  you 
go  next  week — or  this?" 

Few  examples  are  given  here  because  it  is  desired  that  the  learner 
furnish  specimens  under  all  the  rules,  and  point  them,  for  the  criti- 
cism of  the  class  or  teacher.  It  is  only  by  such  close  analysis  that 
proper  attention  can  be  directed  to  this  most  important  branch  of 
reading.  The  following  exercises  may  be  rendered  under  the  rules 
above  given : 

EXTRACT  FROM  "AS  YOU  LIKE  IT." 

Will.     And  good  even  to  you,  sir. 

Touch.  Good  even,  gentle  friend.  Cover  thy  head,  cover  thy  head;  nay, 
prithee, — be  covered.     How  old  are  you,  friend? 

Will.     Five  and  twenty,  sir. 

Touch.     A  ripe  age.     Is  thy  name  William? 

Will.     "William,  sir. 

Touch.     A  fair  name.     Wast  born  i'  the  forest  here? 

Will.     Ay,  sir,  I  thank  God. 

Touch.     Thank  God !  a  good  answer.     Art  rich  ? 

Will.     Faith,  sir,  so  so. 

Touch.  So  so  is  good,  very  good, — very  excellent  good :  and  yet  it  is  not ;  it 
is  hut  so  so.     Art  thou  wise? 

Will.    Ay,  sir,  I  have  a  pretty  wit. 

Touch.  Why,  thou  sayest  well.  I  do  now  rememher  a  saying,  "  The  fool 
doth  think  he  is  wise;  hut  the  wise  man  knows  himself  to  he  a  fool."  The 
heathen  philosopher,  when  he  had  a  desire  to  eat  a  grape,  would  open  his 
lips  when  he  put  it  into  his  mouth;  meaning  thereby  that  grapes  were  made 
to  eat  and  lips  to  open.     You  do  love  this  maid? 

Will.     I  do,  sir. 

Touch.     Give  me  your  hand.     Art  thou  learned? 

Will.     No,  sir. 

Touch.  Then  learn  this  of  me:  to  have  is  to  have;  for  it  is  a  figure  in 
rhetoric  that  drink, — being  poured  out  of  a  cup  into  a  glass, — by  filling  one  doth 
empty  the  other;  for  all  your  writers  do  consent  that  ipse  is  he:  now,  you  are 
not  ij)se,  for  I  am  he. 

Will.     Which  he,  sir? 

Touch.  He,  sir,  that  must  marry  this  woman.  Therefore,  you  clown, 
abandon — which  is  in  the  vulgar  leave — the  society — which  in  the  boorish  is 


MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 


65 


company — of  this  female — which  in  the  common  is  woman;  which  together 
is  abandon  the  society  of  this  female,  or,  clown,  thou  perishest;  or,  to  thy 
better  understanding,  dicst;  or,  to  wit,  I  kill  thee, — make  thee  away, — translate 
thy  life  into  death,  thy  liberty  into  bondage:  I  will  deal  in  poison  with  thee 
or  in  bastinado,  or  in  steel;  I  will  bandy  with  thee  in  faction;  I  will  o'errun 
thee  with  policy;  I  will  kill  thee  a  hundred  and  fifty  ways:  therefore  tremble 
and  depart. 

Aud.     Do,  good  William. 

Will.     God  rest  you  merry,  sir. 

The  importance  of  rendering  the  inflections  correctly  Avill  be  ap- 
parent by  reading  the  following  exercise  with  the  rising  inflection : 

"  The  man  who  is  in  the  daily  use  of  ardent  spirits,  if  he  does  not  become 
a  drunkard,  is  in  danger  of  losing  his  health  and  character. 

It  will  be  seen  that  using  the  rising  inflection  on  the  words  marked 
for  emphasis  implies  that  the  man  must  become  a  drunkard  in  order 
to  preserve  his  health  and  happiness.  If  rendered  with  the  down- 
ward inflection,  the  true  idea  will  be  conveyed. 

Rule. — When  two  words  are  connected,  expressing  an  alternative, 
the  first  one  takes  the  rising,  the  second  the  falling  inflection.  Swift — 
or  slow;  rough — or  smooth;  smooth — or  rough.  Live — or  die;  sur- 
vive— or  perish.  But  when  spoken  in  an  interrogative  manner  the 
inflection  is  changed,  the  first  word  taking  the  falling  and  the  second 
the  rising  inflection ;  as,  "Swift — or  slow?     Good — or  bad?"  etc. 

The  monotone  or  intense  forward  inflection  indicates  that  the 
voice  is  kept  nearly  on  the  same  pitch  or  tone  for  several  successive 
words.  This  sometimes  occurs  in  rapid  expression,  and  sometimes 
gives  marked  effect  in  grave  and  solemn  passages.  "But  hark! 
through  the  fast  flashing  lightning  of  war;"  "But  that  I  am  forbid 
to  tell  the  secrets  of  my  prison-house;"  "Haste  me  to  know  it,  that 
I,  with  wings  as  swift  as  meditation  or  the  thoughts  of  love,  may 
sweep  to  my  revenge." 

There  is  much  abuse  of  this  inflection,  many  persons  trying  to 
render  whole  paragraphs  without  the  least  regard  to  emphasis  or 
the  sentiment  of  the  piece,  taking  for  granted  that  a  low  continuous 
tone  expresses  all  of  gravity.  A  greater  mistake  could  not  be  made. 
Many  actors,  indeed  almost  without  exception,  in  playing  the  part 
of  the  ghost  in  "Hamlet,"  assume  what  they  probably  consider  a 
sepulchral  tone  of  voice.  For  what  reason  they  take  this  liberty  it 
is  hard  to  imagine.  Is  it  a  style  peculiar  to  ghosts?  Who  can  tell 
us?     Or  did  the  senior  Hamlet  talk  in  that  way. 

5 


66  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  Circumflex,  or  Wave  —  Emphasis  —  Stress  asd  Quantity  — 
Khetorical  Pauses. 

The  circumflex,  or  wave,  is  a  union  of  the  rising  and  falling  inflec- 
tions, sometimes  on  one  syllable  and  sometimes  on  several.  Sneers, 
taunts,  gibes,  and  reproachful  expressions  have  an  accentuation  pecul- 
iarly their  own,  and  partake  largely  of  circumflections. 

What  we  mean  does  not  depend  so  much  on  what  we  say  as  on  the 
manner  in  which  we  say  it.  The  modifying  influences  of  accentuation, 
inflection,  and  emphasis  change  the  intention  or  whole  idea,  making 
it  something  else.  Whether  we  will  or  not,  whatever  is  uttered  under 
the  pressure  of  strong  feeling  expresses  itself  exactly.  If  the  same 
words  are  uttered  under  diflferent  circumstances,  with  reversed  or 
changed  inflection,  indicating  a  different  state  of  mind,  they  will 
mean  something  else.  Therefore  we  must  bear  in  mind  that  nature, 
true  to  herself,  stamps  her  meaning  in  all  outward  expression. 

The  question  arises  here  then,  of  what  use  is  the  study  of  elocution 
if  nature  is  the  best  and  only  reliable  teacher?  As  our  education  in 
letters  is  obtained  from  books,  and  Ave  become  fixed  in  the  habit  of 
using  the  letter  without  the  spirit,  we  neglect  giving  such  attention 
to  the  manner  as  nature,  the  great  master,  prompts.  The  true  elocu- 
tionist, like  the  teacher  of  any  art,  can  not  go  beyond  the  expression 
of  nature  and  give  any  degree  of  satisfaction.  All  that  he  can  do  is 
to  gather  facts  by  close  and  critical  study,  and  embody  them  in  such 
rules  and  distinctions  as  will  place  the  pupil  on  the  right  road  to 
knowledge.  If  we  take  the  following  examples  and  simply  read  them 
without  taking  into  consideration  the  spirit  in  which  they  are  uttered, 
we  will  not  convey  their  meaning. 

If  we  were  to  say  candidly  to  some  persons,  "You  are  very  ivise 
men,  deeply  learned  in  the  truth;  we,  weak,  contemptible,  mean  per- 
sons ;"  it  would  indicate  an  appreciation  of  merits  in  them  far  superior 
to  our  own.  But  if  we  use  the  waves  of  voice  that  express  sarcasm 
we  give  just  the  reverse  of  what  the  simple  definition  of  the  words 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  ^57 

implies :  that  they  are  self-conceited,  and  entertain  a  poor  opinion  of  vs ; 
as,  "  You  are  very  wise  men,  dkeply  learned  in  the  truiJi;  we,  \veak, 
contemptible,  mean  persons."  The  Queen  of  Denmark,  in  reproving 
her  son  Hamlet  for  his  conduct  toward  his  stepfather,  whom  she 
married  shortly  after  the  murder  of  the  king,  her  husband,  says  to 
him  emphatically,  "Samlet,  you  have  your  father  much  offended." 
He  replies,  with  the  circumflex  that  indicates  a  taunt,  "Madam — 
you — have  my  father  much  offended."  While  she  meant  that  he  had 
offended  her  second  husband,  he,  using  the  same  words,  flings  the 
reproach  upon  her  that  she  had  proven  untrue  to  his  own  father ;  thus 
endeavoring  to  give  expression  to  his  suspicions  and  plant  the  dagger 
of  remorse  in  her  bosom. 

Art,  studied  appreciatively,  adds  beauty,  ease,  and  gracefulness  to 
the  promptings  of  nature,  giving  greater  power  for  good  or  evil.  Yet 
there  is  a  distinction  that  must  be  made  when  art  is  studied  and 
applied  to  evil  purposes  or  to  deceive ;  then  it  is  leveled  to  trickery. 
But  wdien  it  is  sought  for  ennobling  objects,  for  higher  achievements, 
it  becomes  the  handmaid  of  progress.  Study  it  always  in  behalf  of 
the  latter,  and  you  Avill  help  to  bless  the  world. 

Close  and  critical  attention  to  these  delicate  slides  of  voice  is  all- 
important.  In  speech,  the  right  or  Avrong  rendering  of  these  gives  a 
pervading  character  to  the  whole  delivery,  and  the  grace  and  refined 
ease  of  polished  society  is  much  indebted  to  the  correct  expression 
of  inflections.  Do  not  fear  that  time  will  be  lost  in  the  study  and 
practice  of  these  essential  elements  in  good  reading  and  speaking. 
The  following  examples  may  now  be  rendered : 

"  Moneys — is  your  suit. 

What  should  I  sai/  to  you  ?     Should  I  not  say, 

Hath  a  dog  money  ? — is  it  possible 

A  cur  can  lend — three  thousand  ducats?" 
"  "What  says  that  fool  of  a  Hagar's  offspring  ?  " 
"  What ! — can  so  young  a  thorn  begin  to  prick  ?  " 
"  How  like  a  fawning  publican  he  looks  ?  " 
"They  tell  us  to  be  moderate;  but  they — thky  are  to  revel  in  profusion  ! '" 

"  Then  Satan — answered  the  Lord,  and  said,  Doth  Job — fear  God — for 
naught?  And  Job  answered — and  said,  No  doubt — but  ye — are  the  ^^eo/^/e, 
and  wisdom — shall  die  with  you." 

In  strongly  impassioned  sentences  it  frequently  requires  the  slur 
of  several  notes  on  one  word  to  express  the  intensity  of  scorn.  The 
following  reply  of  Death  to  Satan  gives  a  striking  example  of  this 


gg  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

length  of  circumflex.    The  scorn  and  contempt  exhibited  is  so  intense 
there  is  little  danger  of  overdoing : 

"And  reckon'st  thou  thyself  with  spir-its  of  heaven,  HEITL-DOOMED, 
and  breath' st  defiance  luu^e  and  scorn,  wherel  reign  king,  and  to  enrage  thee 
more, — tJiy  king,  and  Lord." 

The  circumflex  is  also  used  in  grand  and  impressive  passages.  In 
the  following  example  from  Isaiah,  so  simple,  yet  so  grand  and  com- 
prehensive, is  a  fine  illustration  of  the  pitch  of  dignified  descent  or 
cadence  of  the  slur,  and  of  the  intense  monotone : 

4   i-  is  the  Lord  God  of  Hosts. 

3  I  Holy,  <^  The  whole  earth — is  full — 

2    )  Holj)  of  ^*^S   GLOltY. 

1   I 

Who  shall  ascend  into  the  hill  of  the  Lord?  or — who — shall — stand — in  his 
holy  2>lace  ? 

The  following  words  which  Shakespeare  put  into  the  mouth  of  the 
untamed  Hotspur  most  perfectly  expresses  his  opinion  of  an  efieminate 
dandy.  The  recitationist  should  endeavor  to  look  through  the  eyes 
of  a  blunt,  straightforward,  honest,  earnest  soldier,  defending  himself 
from  an  unjust  accusation.  It  will  be  found  that  only  a  free  use  of 
the  slender  qualities  of  voice,  made  up  largely  of  inflections  and 
waves,  can  express  the  utter  contempt  and  insignificance  with  which 
he  regards  the  subject. 

Exercise. 

^^  Hotspur.     My  liege, — I  did  deny  no  prisoners. 
But  I  rememher  when  the  fight  was  done, 
When  I  was  dry  with  rage,  and  extreme  toil, 
Breathless,  and  faint,  leaning  upon  my  sword, 
Came  there  a  certain  lord;  neat,  trimly  dress'd; 
Fresh  as  a  bridegroom ;  and  his  chin,  new  reap"d, 
Showed  like  stubble-\&.ni}L — at  harvest  home. 
He  was  perfumed  like  a  milliner; 
And  'twixt  his  finger  and  his  thiwib  he  held 
A  pouncet-hox,  which  ever  and  anon 
He  gave  his  nose.     And  still  he  smil'd  and  talk'd; 
And  as  the  soldiers — bore  dead  bodies  by. 
He  called  them  untaught  knaves,  unmannerly, 
To  bring  a  slovenly,  unhandsome  corse 
Betwixt  the  tvind — and  his  nobility. 
With  many  holiday — and  lady  terms 
He  question' d  me ;  among  the  rest,  demanded 
My  prisoners  in  her  majesty's  behalf. 
I  then,  all  smarting  with  my  wounds,  being  gall'd 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  69 

To  be  so  pestered  with  a  popinjay, 

Out  of  my  grief,  and  my  impatience, 

Answered  negligently — I  know  not  what, — 

He  should,  or  should  not ;  for  he  made  me  mad 

To  see  him  shine  so  brisk,  and  smell  so  sweet, 

And  talk  so  like  a  waiting  gentlewoman 

Of  guns,  and  drums,  and  wounds  (heaven  save  the  mark!) 

And  telling  me  the  sovreign'st  thing  on  earth 

Was  spermaceti — for  an  inward  bruise; 

And  that  it  was  a  great  pity  (so  it  was) 

That  villainous  saltpetre — should  be  digged 

Out  of  the  bowels  of  the  harmless  earth, 

Which  many  a  good  tall  fellow  had  destroy'd 

So  cowardly ;  and  but  for  these  vile  gu7is 

He  would  himself  have  been  a  soldier. 

This  bald  unjointed  chat  of  his,  my  lord, 

I  answered  indirectly,  as  I  said ; 

And  I  beseech  you  let  not  his  report 

Come  current,  for  an  accusation. 

Betwixt  my  love  and  your  high  m,ajesty." 

There  have  been  many  rules  laid  down  and  suggestions  given  in 
regard  to  the  proper  rendering  of  tlie  emphatic  words  in  sentences. 
With  what  degree  of  success  they  have  been  attended,  or  what  actual 
guide  they  have  been  to  the  student,  we  will  not  discuss  here. 

Most  readers  and  speakers,  however,  regard  emphasis  as  a  matter 
of  private  judgment,  w^iich  their  own  taste  and  appreciation  of  the 
sentiment  should  dictate,  and  which  can  not  be  determined  by  fixed 
rules;  forgetting  that  taste  would  lose  its  significance,  or  at  least 
become  very  bad  taste,  if  it  failed  to  translate  the  author's  sentiments 
correctly. 

We  might,  with  as  much  propriety,  use  the  same  liberty  with  the 
accentuation  of  syllables,  or  declare  that  individual  taste  should  settle 
the  various  parts  of  speech.  Emphasis  is  either  something  or  nothing. 
It  has  a  specific  use  or  it  has  no  use.  If  it  has  a  legitimate  place,  it 
must  be  amenable  to  some  law. 

Then  who  is  to  decide  this  matter,  it  is  asked.  Is  not  one  person 
as  good  authority  as  another?  To  the  first  question  we  would  reply, 
nature  is  to  decide;  to  the  second,  they  are  the  best  authority  who 
have  studied  most  closely  natural  effects.  People  in  earnest,  animated 
conversations  and  discussions,  in  asking  or  answering  questions,  always 
place  the  emphasis  on  the  proper  word,  and  would  not  deviate  in 
rendering  the  ideas  of  others  if  they  had  not  been  erroneously  taught 
by  those  who  have  ignored  nature's  invaluable  lessons. 


70  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

We  will  give  some  specimens  where  taste  and  appreciation  of  sen- 
timent decided  the  emphatic  words. 

Example  1. — The  first  sentence  in  the  soliloquy  of  Macbeth  when 
he  is  debating  the  murder  of  King  Duncan — "  If  it  were  done  when 
'tis  done,  then  it  were  well  it  were  done  quickly." 

Any  one  who  has  observed  critically  the  rendition  of  this  passage 
by  different  professional  readers  and  actors  will  have  heard  it  empha- 
sized in  the  following  various  styles:  "If  it  were  done  when  'tia  done, 
then  it  were  ivell  it  were  done  quickly."  The  sense  of  which  is:  "If 
it  were  done  when  'tis,  it  were  ivell."  Here  the  sense  is  already  com- 
pleted, and  "it  were  done  quickly"  becomes  a  meaningless  clause, 
having  no  reference  to  what  precedes  it. 

Example  2. — "If  it  were  done  when  'tis  done,  then  it  were  well  it 
were  done  quickly."  "If  it  were  when  'tis"  is  without  meaning.  If 
it  is,  it  absolutely  is;  there  is  no  "if  it  were"  about  it.  By  such 
emphasis  we  are  led  to  this  conclusion,  that  "if  it  were  wdien  'tis,  then 
it  were  well  it  were." 

The  true  idea  to  be  conveyed  is  that  the  act  does  not  prevent 
consequences  following  it;  that  committing  the  murder  is  no  surety 
that  the  business  Avill  be  finished — the  object  attained. 

Let  us  substitute  the  word  finished  for  the  first  "done,"  and  we 
will  have  no  trouble  in  placing  the  emphasis :  "  If  it  were  finislied 
when  'tis  done,  then  it  were  Avell  it  were  done  quickly."  Of  course  we 
can  not  help  wishing  that  Macbeth  had  possessed  a  more  copious 
language,  and  had  not  been  obliged  to  use  the  same  word  three  times 
in  a  sentence.  But  the  office  of  the  elocutionist  is  to  find  the  meaning 
of  the  author  and  give  it  the  proper  expression,  no  matter  how  much 
it  may  be  hidden  by  inexpressive  words. 

We  will  give  one  other  example,  from  Paul : 

"O  death !  where  is  thy  sting? 
O  grave  !  where  is  thy  victory?" 

The  majority  of  persons  who  read  these  sentences  place  the  em- 
phasis on  is,  which  conveys  the  idea  that  the  sting  of  death  and  the 
A'ictory  of  the  grave  are  things  the  reader  is  searching  to  find  and 
eager  to  possess.  They  are  simply  exclamations  of  triumph,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  resurrection  having  gained  the  victory  over  death  and 
the  grave.  This  having  been  fully  demonstrated,  the  apostle  bursts 
forth  with  this  paean,  placing  the  emphasis  on  where;  meaning,  where 

now  is  thy  sting : 

"  0  death  !  where  is  thy  sting  ? 
0  grave  !  where  is  thy  victory?" 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  yj 

We  hope  these  quotations  will  be  sufficient  to  convince  both  reader 
and  student  that  emphasis  must  be  governed  by  fixed  rules,  inherent 
in  the  nature  of  things. 

As  we  have  shown  that  emphasis  placed  on  the  wrong  words 
entirely  changes  the  meaning  of  the  author,  it  will  be  further  seen 
that  close  and  critical  analysis  is  required,  not  only  to  find  the  truly 
emphatic  word  in  a  sentence,  but  to  ascertain  in  what  way  it  is  con- 
trolled by  something  previously  expressed. 

Rule. — Simple  courtesy  requires  that  all  proper  names,  when 
introduced  for  the  first  time,  should  receive  emphasis. 

This  rule  must  also  be  observed  in  presenting  people  to  each  other ; 
and  further,  when  several  names  are  spoken  in  succession,  each  must 
receive  stress,  and  must  not  be  pronounced  in  the  same  pitch  of  voice 
nor  with  the  same  breath. 

ExAJiPLE. — "  George  and  Mary,  James  and  Cynthia,  John  and  Eliza 
attended  the  celebration."  These  persons  are  distinctly  and  separately 
introduced,  and  each  individual  name  must  be  pronounced  vith  dif- 
ferent emphasis  (or  pitch  of  voice)  from  the  preceding  one. 

We  can  readily  see  the  folly  of  disregarding  this  rule  if  we  present 
a  number  of  persons  in  succession,  trying  to  pronounce  their  .names 
with  one  breath  and  in  exactly  the  same  pitch  of  voice.  Certainly 
nothing  could  be  more  disrespectful.  Therefore  we  see  here  a  law, 
founded  on  the  nature  of  things,  to  neglect  or  disobey  which  would 
be  inexcusable. 

The  above  rule  applies  also  to  objects  and  topics  when  first  pre- 
sented. It  is  but  an  act  of  politeness,  due  to  the  listeners,  that  they 
may  become  acquainted  with  a  new  subject  demanding  their  consid- 
eration. If  this  is  neglected,  the  subject — its  acts,  qualities,  etc. — 
mingle  in  inextricable  confusion  in  the  mind  of  the  listener. 

Note. — After  a  formal,  emphatic  presentation  of  nouns  has  taken  place,  according  to  the 
preceding  rule,  on  their  recurrence  they  do  not  take  the  same  prominence ;  but  their  acts 
and  qualities  are  next  in  order  to  receive  stress. 

ExAiNiPLE. — It  rained,  it  hailed,  it  blew,  making  the  storm  terHfic." 
Storm  does  not  receive  stress,  becau.?e  it  stands  in  the  position  of  a 
recurrence  of  the  word.  But  the  writer  has  introduced  three  distinct 
acts  to  express  the  character  of  the  storm,  and  these  should  not  be 
spoken  on  the  same  pitch  of  voice.  As  they  all  mean  different  things, 
different  qualities  of  voice  are  required. 

Therefore  all  students  of  elocution  should  analyze  each  sentence, 
for  the  purpose  of  gaining  the  author's  full  meaning.  This,  of  course, 
involves  an  amount  of  study  that  may  be  discouraging  to  those  who 


72  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

expect  to  become  proficients  without  labor ;  but  it  is  the  shortest  and 
only  road  to  excellence. 

One  very  simple  way  of  finding  correct  emphasis  is  by  questions 
and  answers.  Let  us  take  a  part  of  the  23d  Psalm,  and  by  questions 
and  answers  see  what  we  learn : 

"The  Lord  is  my  Shepherd:  I  shall  not  want."  Why  shall  I  not 
want?  Because  the  Lord  is  my  Shepherd.  Therefore  we  get  this 
rendering:   "The  Lord  is  my  SJiepherd:  I  shall  not  want" 

"He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures."  Where  doth  He 
make  me  to  lie  down  ?  In  green  pastures.  He  leadeth  me  where?  By 
the  still  waters.  He  leadeth  me  in  what  paths?  Of  righteousness. 
For  whose  sake?  For  His  name's  salce.  Again,  "Unto  thee,  O  Lord, 
do  I  lift  up  my  soul!"  Unto  whom  do  I  lift  up  my  soul?  Unto  diee. 
What  do  I  lift  up  unto  thee?     My  soul. 

Note. — Remember  that  my  is  never  emphatic  unless  it  is  used  to  denote  possession,  in 
contrast  to  something  possessed  by  others,  or  when  the  object  possessed  is  a  subject  of  con- 
troversy. 

"The  Lord  said  unto  my  lord,  sit  thou  at  my  right  hand  until  I 
make  thine  enemies — thy  footstool,"  is  correct,  for  two  separate  lords 
are  designated. 

Rule. — When  any  two  words  in  a  sentence  are  brought  in  contrast 
they  are  emphatic;  as,  "Why  should  it  live — while  Jam  fallen?" 

In  simple  emphasis,  where  there  are  repetitions,  or  a  succession  of 
particulars  to  be  designated,  the  stress  is  marked  more  by  different 
pitches  of  voice  and  inflection  than  by  increased  loudness. 

"They  (through  faith)  subdued  kingdoms,  wrought  righteousness,  obtained 
promises,  stopped  the  mouths  of  lions; — out  of  weakness  were  made  strong, — 
■waxed  valiant  m  fight,  turned  to  flight  the  arms  of  the  aliens." 

"  But  the  fruit  of  the  spirit  is  love,  peace,  long-sutiering,  gentleness, 
goodness,  faith,  meekness,  temperance." 

"  The  rocks  crumble,  the  trees  fall,  the  leaves  fade,  and  the  grass  withers." 

Emphasis  may  be  properly  divided  into  two  classes,  the  Grammat- 
ical and  Rhetorical. 

Grammatical  emphasis  sustains  the  corresponding  relation  to  words 
in  a  sentence  that  accented  syllables  do  to  words,  it  being  one  of  the 
essential  elements  that  helps  to  give  correct  meaning,  as  well  as  life  and 
soul  to  all  delivery.  As  the  subject  and  predicate  are  the  important 
words  in  a  sentence,  they  receive  the  stress  from  grammatical  necessity. 

We  will  construct  an  example  in  simple  grammatical  emphasis. 
In  pronouncing  the  name  of  God  we  should  give  it  sufficient  force  to 
convey  our  devotional  reverence  for  his  name.     If  we  say  God  is,  there 


MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION.  73 

is  an  interest  awakened,  and  the  important  stress  is  placed  on  the  predi- 
cate, which  means  that  he  exists,  that  he  is  all  in  all.  If  we  say  God 
is  great,  it  then  becomes  a  simple  copula;  great  is  the  thing  predicated, 
and  which  receives  the  important  stress.  In  all  simple  declarations 
this  is  a  rule :  John  is  wUe ;  Julia  is  beautiful ;  Javies  is  good. 

Rule  1. — But  if  they  assume  the  form  of  positive  affirmation  or 
opposition  to  some  other  expressed  opinion,  then  the  copula  receives 
the  important  stress;  as,  John  is  ivise,  notwithstanding  you  do  not 
think  so ;  Julia  is  beautiful,  and  James  is  good. 

Rule  2. — In  altercations  and  disputes  the  emphasis  is  changed 
from  the  pronoun  to  the  verb;  "This  is  my  book.  It  was  your  book, 
but  it  IS  not  now."  The  student  should  be  required  to  originate  sen- 
tences, emphasizing  according  to  the  preceding  examples. 

Rule  3. — In  the  repetition  of  a  question  the  verb  takes  the  stress; 
as,  TF/io  is  this  man  of  whom  you  speak?  No  answer  being  received, 
the  question  is  repeated.  Who  is  this  man  of  whom  you  speak? 

In  all  affirmations  confirming  a  fact  about  which  doubt  has  been 
expressed  follow  the  same  rule. 

There  are  two  ways  of  making  emphasis — by  stress  and  quantity. 
Stress  is  simple  unimpassioned  emphasis,  such  as  occurs  in  important 
words  in  general  conversation,  or  in  reading  sentiments  or  thoughts 
not  particularly  impressive.  Quantity  is  either  loudness  or  force, 
with  more  prolongation  of  the  vowel-sounds  on  the  unaccented  sylla- 
bles, and  is  marked  also  by  variety  of  pitch. 

When  two  or  more  states,  conditions,  or  qualities  are  used  in  the 
predicate  they  are  all  emphatic,  and  usually  increase  in  force  of 
utterance,  the  last  one  receiving  more  stress  than  the  preceding 
ones;  but  they  should  be  spoken  on  different  pitches,  rather  than 
in  loudness  of  voice,  bearing  in  mind  also  that  two  emphatic  words 
must  not  be  spoken  Avithout  taking  breath  between  them.  God  is 
^^^great — and  ^-^good — and  ^^)glorious. 

Exercise  in  Medium  Emphasis. 

Ere  three  shrill  notes  the  pipe  had  uttered, 
You  heard  as  if  an  army  muttered; 
And  the  grumbling — grew  to  a  mighty — rumbling, 
And  out  of  the  house  the  reds  came  tumbling; — 
Great  rats,  small  rats,  lean  rats,  hraivny  rats, 
Brown  rats,  black  rats,  gray  rats,  tawny  rats ; 
Grave  old  plodders, — gay  young  friskers  ; 
Fathers,  mothers, — uncles,  cousins, 
Curling  tails  and  pricking  whiskers; 
Families — by  tens  and  dozens; — 


74  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Brothers,  sisters,  husbands,  wives — 
Followed  the  piper  for  their  lives. 
From  street  to  street  he  piped,  advancing, 
And  step  for  step  they  followed,  dancing, 
Until  they  came  to  the  river  Weser, 
Wherein  all — plunged  and  perished 
Save  07ie, — who,  stout  as  Julius  Caesar, 
Swam  across,  and  lived  to  carry 
To  iJaMand-home  his  commentary. 

Words  are  emphatic  when  opposition  is  expressed  or  understood, 
or  when  we  wish  to  enforce  contrast. 

Example. — He  who  can  not  bear  a  joke  should  never  give  one.  He  that  is 
past  shame  is  past  hope.  The  Aearf— without  the  heart — is  like  a  stQ&ra-engine 
without  the  boiler.  They  are  generally  most  ridiculous  themselves — who  see 
most  to  ridicule  in  others. 

Words  used  to  exhibit  differences,  joined  by  conjunctions,  are 
emphatic;  as,  ^^ Sink  or  swim, — live  or  die, — survive  or  perish."  "The 
sun  and  moon — refused  to  shine."  "Heaven  and  earth — will  witness." 
"Land  and  sea." 

Over,  under,  beneath,  below,  above,  upon,  unto,  within,  Avithout, 
my,  your,  our,  their,  etc. ,  are  never  emphatic  unless  made  so  by  being 
contrasted  by  their  opposite  in  meaning. 

Example. — We  went  over  the  bridge,  not  under  it.  We  took  the  road 
below  the  town,  not  the  one  leading  throitgh  the  town.  This  is  my  seat,  not 
yours.     He  is  the  governor  of  our  state,  not  of  theirs. 

Remark. — If  we  say,  we  loved,  you  hated,  they  wept,  both  subject  and  predicate  receive 
stress ;  for  attentioa  is  drawn  to  the  fact  that  there  are  not  only  different  parties,  but  tliat 
they  are  doing  different  things. 

Exercise  in  Emphasis  axd  Ehetoeical  Pauses. —  How  mean, — how 
timid, — how  abject,  must  that  spirit  be  which  can  sit  doioi — contented  with 
mediocrity.  As  for  myself — all  that  is  within  me  is  on  Jire.  I  had  rather  be 
torn  into  a  thousand  pieces  than  relax  my  resolution  of  reaching  the  sublimest 
heights  of  virtue — and  knowledge,  of  goodiiess — and  truth,  of  love — and  wisdom. 
Nothing  so  admirable  in  human  affairs  but  may  be  attained  by  the  industry 
of  maw.  We  are  descended  from  heaven ;  thither  let  us  go.  Let  nothing  satisfy 
us — lower  than  the  summit  of  all  excellence.'^ 

Note. — Parenthetical  clauses  must  be  spoken  in  quicker  time,  and  at  least  a  note  lower, 
than  the  words  preceding  and  following. 

The  student  may  now  be  required  to  read  the  following  exercise 
from  "The  Passions,"  paying  strict  attention  to  all  that  has  been  said 
about  emphasis,  breathing,  pitch,  and  parenthetical  modulation : 

"  When  Music  (heavenly  maid)  wa.s  young. 
While  yet,  in  early  Greece,  she  sung, 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  75 

The  Passions  oft  (to  hear  her  shell) 
Throng'd  around  her  magic  cell, — 
Exulting,  trembling,  raging,  fainting, — 
Possess'd  beyond  the  Muse's  painting. 
By  turns,  they  felt  the  glowing  mind 
Disturbed,  delighted,  raised,  refined ; 
Till  once  ('tis  said)  when  all  were  fired, 
Filled  with  fury — rapt — inspired — 
From  the  supporting  myrtles  round 
They  snatched  her  instruments  of  sound; 
And,  as  they  oft  had  heard  apart 
Sweet  lessons  of  her  forceful  art. 
Each — (for  madness  ruled  the  hour — ) 
"Would  prove  his  own  expressive  power." 

After  facility  in  simple  emphasis  has  been  acquired,  it  will  be  easy 
to  master  the  rhetorical. 

Rhetorical  emphasis  has  relation  to  the  expression  of  the  forcible, 
passional,  and  emotional  qualities.  It  does  not  interfere  with  the 
grammatical  sense,  but  conveys  intensity  and  passional  expression 
that  the  other  fails  to  do. 

If  we  say,  "To  arms,  they  come,"  the  grammatical  sense  is  complete ; 
But  if  the  clauses  are  repeated,  it  is  indicated  that  there  is  something 
more  to  be  expressed.  If  we  repeat  the  words  without  any  additional 
stress  of  voice,  there  is  nothing  gained  by  their  repetition.  "They 
come!  to  arms!  to  arms!  to  arms!"  The  simple  call,  "They  come! 
to  arms!"  will  convey  just  as  much  as  the  repetition;  but  if  each 
additional  "fo  arms"  is  given  with  increasing  force  and  higher  pitch, 
some  idea  of  the  state  of  alarm  and  the  necessity  for  immediate 

resistance  will  be  manifested. 

^^  .„w„ r     TO  arms! 
_,  ,  ,  ,     TO  arms! 

They  come  !  to  arms  ! 

This  manner  of  rendition  is  absolute  in  all  such  passages  where 
alarm  and  sudden  resistance,  or  desire  for  help,  is  to  be  expressed. 
'  T  is  nature's  own  expression.  Let  this  and  similar  clauses  be  prac- 
ticed by  commencing  with  the  loud  and  high  pitch,  and  diminishing 
in  ratio  to  the  close,  and  it  will  be  seen  how  foolish  and  inadequate 
is  the  result.  Resistance  and  bravery  will  appear  to  be  rapidly 
oozing  out. 

KoTE.— Words,  phrases,  and  sentences  that  require  high  pitches  of  voice  before  the 
climax  is  attained  we  denominate  intense  rising  emphasis;  those  which  require  descent 
to  lower  and  graver  pitches  of  voice  we  will  denominate  the  intense  falling  or  descending 
emphasis. 

The  repetition  of  words  always  indicates  their  increased  expression, 
but  does  not  indicate  that  they  shall  always  be  given  on  higher  pitches 


76  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

of  voice.  Repetitions  of  a  sacred,  grave,  impressive,  and  dignified 
character  require  the  downward  stepping  of  the  voice;  and,  if  the 
last  repeated  word  closes  the  sentence,  takes  usually  a  low,  emphatic, 
prolonged  half-whisper. 

If  I  were  an  American  as  I  am  an  Englishman,  I  never  would  lay  down 
my  arms ;  no,  never,  „„„ 

''  '  '  '       NEVER,  , 

'     never! 

The  student  will  see  at  once  the  marked  contrast  in  the  two  exam- 
ples above  given,  and  also  the  difference  of  expression  necessary  to 
render  the  opposite  conditions  or  states  of  mind. 

The  cool  deliberation  of  a  person  debating  a  strong  case,  endeav- 
ormg  to  convince  the  judgment  of  an  assembly,  and  enforcing  his 
arguments  by  the  powers  of  reason  and  rhetoric,  would  be  quite 
different  from  the  excited  condition  of  one  trying  to  arouse  people  to 
resistance  against  immediate  danger.  Neither  would  he  use  the  scold- 
ing or  high  tones  of  anger ;  to  do  so  would  only  make  him  ridiculous, 
and  be  but  a  waste  of  breath  and  passion.  The  same  rule  is  in  force 
where  a  succession  of  words  follow  each  other  which  directly  appertain 
to  the  same  subject,  although  not  the  same  words  repeated ;  as, 

They, — by  a  strange  frenzy  driven,  —  fight  for  power,  for  plunder  —  and 

extended  rule; we, — for  our  country,  ,,  j 

'  '  ■^'  our  altars, — and  7 

'  our  homes. 

Without  a  grave, —     ,     ,,   , 

'     uncofftnea, — and       , 

■"        '  unknown. 

Also  in  all  clauses  and  words  that  are  used  to  express  contempt ;  as. 

Thou  slave,  ,■,  ,  , 

'  thou  wretch,  ,-,  , 

'  thou  coward! 

Thou  art  too  base  for  man 

To  tread  upon  :    , ,  , 

^      '    thou  scum!    .,  ,.,  , 

thou  reptile  I 

But  this  full,  falling  emphasis  occurs  on  the  last-repeated  word 
only  when  it  ends  a  sentence. 

But  if  the  repeated  words  or  clauses  commence  the  sentence — as  in 
this  example,  ''Ever  thicker,  thicker,  thicker  froze  the  ice  on  lake  and 
river" — the  first  and  second  should  take  the  increasing  descending 
emphasis,  but  the  last  word  "thicker"  commences  on  exactly  the  pitch 
on  which  the  second  terminated,  rising  with  a  circumflex  of  voice  to 
the  pitch  on  which  the  first  word  "ever"  was  spoken;  for  it  is  a  law 
that  no  Avord  should  receive  a  full  falling  inflection  or  cadence  until 
the  sense  or  thought  in  the  sentence  is  complete.  The  sense  is  here 
continued;  and  while  the  grave  and  impressive  stress  is  required,  it 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  77 

can  not  terminate  there;    for  the  words  are   introductory  and   not 
completory. 

thicker,   ^^^^;r.g^^  tM'^^ 

Ever  J  ^„™.  fell  the  snow  o'er  all  the  landscape. 

'^''P'''^  deeper,  deep^^  ^ 

How  often  we  hear  clergymen  read  the  following  passage:  "Holy, 
holy,  holy  is  the  Lord  God,"  etc.,  in  a  grave  and  monotonous  tone 
of  voice,  giving  just  exactly  as  much  force  on  one  word  as  on  the 
other;  and  the  "who  was,  and  who  is,  aqc^  who  is  to  come,"  with  the 
emphasis  each  time  on  the  who. 

^°^y'  holy,  Holy  is  the  Lord  God  Almighty, 
"Who  was,  and  who  is,  and  who  is  to  come. 

Was,  is,  and  is  to  come  are  used  here  to  express  the  omnipresence 
of  the  Lord  God  Almighty,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  time. 
If  these  are  not  emphasized  the  sense  is  not  rendered. 

When  a  sentence  is  commenced  with  repeated  clauses  which  have 

reference  to  time,  place,  distance,  or  particular  qualities,  the  noun 

should  be  the  first  to  receive  the  emphasis ;  in  the  second  repetition 

the  adjective  receives  the  stress;  in  the  third  or  last,  both  adjective 

and  noun  take  increased  power. 

,    ,,       ,  half  a  I.EAGXJE  omvard. 

1    -rr  ij?       7  naCf  a  league,       •' 

1.  Half  a  league,       •'  °     ' 

^^^„  ^^■.^.  +!,„  v^,.„„^  none  but  the  brave  deserve  the  fair. 
f>    TVT        v  i  i-v    z.  none  but  the  brave, 

2.  None  but  the  hrave,  ' 

.        and  nothins;  btjt  our  country. 

r.    r\  i       our  WHOLE  Country,  =  •' 

3.  Our  country,  •" 

Repeated  sentences  commencing  with  the  same  word  or  clauses  ex- 
pressing excited  passion  take  the  intense  rising  emphasis  during  the 
entire  sentence  without  any  downward  dropping  of  the  voice. 

3.  Strike — for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires. 
2.  Strike — -for  your  altars  and  your  fires; 
1.  Strike — till  the  last  armed  foe  expires; 

The  following  is  to  be  read  in  the  same  manner,  except  the  first 
line  where  the  parenthetical  clause  occurs : 

3.  CHARGE  home — avertge  them  one  and  all. 
2.  Charge  home — your  bleeding  comrades  fall ! 
1.  Charge  home — (brave  men) — at  freedom's  call; 

The  climax  occurring  on  the  last  word.     In  the  above  each  repetition 
of  the  words  drilce  and  hrnne  takes  an  increasing  circumflex  also. 


78  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Pauses  sometimes  correspond  to  rests  in  music.  As  we  have  dwelt 
so  much  upon  the  necessity  of  respiration,  it  will  be  only  necessary  to 
say  that  the  first  use  of  a  pause  is  to  give  time  for  the  speaker  to  take 
breath.  Pauses,  or  suspensions  of  voice,  are  of  various  lengths,  from 
the  slight  breaking  of  voice  between  syllables  to  the  prolonged  rhetor- 
ical pause  required  to  give  effect  and  particularize  a  meaning  which 
rapidity  of  utterance  never  allows. 

Close,  attentive  listening  to  rapid  reading  or  speaking  will  enable 
a  person  to  catch  the  leading  idea  of  the  author,  but  scarcely  any 
thing  further  than  this.  To  present  a  subject  fully  requires  something 
more.  "There  is  a  time  for  all  things,"  is  a  saying  as  old  as  Solomon ; 
and  that  all  things  require  time  for  their  completion  and  perfect  work 
is  equally  true.  And  it  frequently  becomes  essential  that  not  only  a 
suspension  of  voice  is  necessary,  but  a  visible  pause  is  required  before 
a  word  to  excite  expectation  in  the  minds  of  the  listeners,  else  they 
will  not  be  impressed  with  the  full  importance  of  the  word  which  is 
to  follow.    We  denominate  this  "rhetorical  efiect,"  and  the  suspension 

of  voice  RHETORICAL  PAUSE. 

The  rhetorical  pause  occurs  before  or  after  the  important  words, 
and  it  is  sometimes  necessary  that  a  word  or  sentence  shall  be  com- 
pletely cut  ofi*  or  separated  from  what  precedes  it,  and  also  from  that 
which  follows,  by  this  suspension  of  voice,  in  order  that  sufficient 
attention  may  be  drawn  to  it.  But  the  words  or  clauses  thus  set 
apart  receive  emphasis  in  some  form  of  modulation  of  voice  that 
is  not  given  to  the  others.  Thus  where  opposite  things  or  qualities 
are  contrasted,  the  quality  of  voice  must  be  used  that  will  best 
express  the  character  of  each;  as,  Virtue — leads  to  happiness;  — 
vice, —  to   misery. 

These  pauses  are  of  greater  or  less  duration,  and  are  regulated  in 
length  by  the  importance  of  the  words  or  clauses  before  and  after 
which  they  occur.  To  give  some  idea  of  the  comparative  length  of 
these  rests,  we  will  illustrate  by  the  use  of  one  or  more  little  pause- 
dashes,  but  give  them  merely  as  an  illustration  ;  for  the  pupil  should 
strive  so  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  what  he  says  or  reads  as  to  have 
them  prompted  by  his  feelings. 

A  Deity — believed — is  joy  begun ;  a  Deity adored is  joy  advanced ; 

a  Deity BELOVED is  joy  matured. 

It  will  be  seen  that  this  gives  a  separate  molding  of  the  different 
degrees  of  development  of  the  religious  state;  and  when  rendered 
with  the  proper  observance  of  the  pauses,  and  a  slightly  increasing 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTIOX.  79 

emphasis,  with  an  equally  increasing  rising  circumflex  of  voice  on  the 
words  believed,  adored,  beloved,  the  effect  is  very  impressive. 

"  Roll  on, — thou  deep — and  dark — blue  ocean, roll  ; 

Ten  thousand  fleets sweep — over  thee  in  vain." 

'^Hail!  universal  Lord!  Be  bounteous  still — to  give  us  only  good;  and 
if  the  night — have  gathered — aught  of  evil — or  concealed, — diverse  it  now,  as 
light — dispels  the  dark." 

It  must  be  remembered  that  these  pauses  follow  the  law  of  climax 
just  as  does  emphasis;  that  there  are  always  strong  points  to  be 
made,  and  the  greatest  force  and  expression  must  be  reserved  for 
that  purpose. 

"Be  our  plain  answer  —  this, The  throne  we  honor  —  is  the  peoples 

choice; the  laws  we  reverence — are  our  fathers'  legacy; the  faith — we 

follow — teaches  us — to  live  in  bonds  of  charity  with  all  mankind, — and  die — 
with  hopes  of  bliss — beyond — the  grave" 

Let  any  person  read  the  following  extract  from  the  flight  of  Xerxes 
without  the  suspension  of  voice,  and  then  with  it,  and  they  will  dis- 
cover the  importance  of  its  use : 

"  He  who  with  heaven  contended 
Fled  like  a  fugitive  and  slave; 
Behind,  the  foe — before,  the  wave." 
"  Behind, the  foe ;  before, the  wave." 

In  the  first  case  Xerxes  is  behind  the  foe ;  in  the  last,  the  foe  is 
behind  him. 

Again,  in  the  following  quotation  from  Othello,  where  he  smothers 
Desdemona,  the  distinction  between  putting  out  the  light  of  a  taper 
and  the  extinguishing  of  life  could  not  be  expressed  without  this 
prolonged  pause.  Although  Othello  had  many  admirable  traits  of 
character,  the  passion  of  jealousy  was  too  fierce  to  be  controlled  by 
his  frank  and  generous  nature.  The  pathetic  detail  which  he  gave 
to  Desdemona  of  the  dangers  and  hardships  he  had  passed  "in  the 
tented  field,"  excited  in  her  the  profoundest  sympathy  and  love  for 
this  rough  and  swarthy  soldier;  "and  he  loved  her  that  she  did  pity 
them."  Othello  was  truly  and  devotedly  attached  to  his  wife;  but, 
being  impetuous  and  hasty  in  his  disposition,  his  suspicions  were 
easily  awakened.  Desdemona  possessed  a  nature  full  of  sweetness, 
gentleness,  and  compassion,  and  was  ever  true  and  constant  to  her 
husband.  But  lago,  a  pretended  friend  of  Othello — whose  villainy 
has  scarcely  a  parallel  even  among  the  most  odious  characters  which 
Shakespeare  has  painted — by  his  dark  innuendoes  and  insinuations 


80  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

against  the  conduct  of  Desdemona,  succeeds  in  making  Othello  madly 
jealous  of  her.     In  his  tones  of  mingled  jealousy,  despair,  and  revenge 

he  says : 

"She  is  gone! — I  am  abused;  and  my  relief 
Must  be to  hate  her." 

After  the  agitation  of  the  storm  in  his  bosom  had  in  some  measure 
subsided,  he  concluded  to  terminate  her  existence.  In  the  scene, 
Desdemona  is  lying  on  a  couch ;  Othello  enters  with  a  light,  and, 
with  convulsed  frame  and  broken  murmurs,  gazes  upon  his  sleeping 
victim,   and  then  gives  expression  to  his  feelings  in  the  folloAving 

words : 

"  It  is  the  cause,  it  is  the  cause, — my  soul ; 
Let  me  not  name  it  to  you, — you  chaste  stars  I — 
It  is  the  cause.     Yet  I  '11  not  shed  her  blood ; 
Nor  scar  that  whiter  skin  of  hers — than  snow, 
And  smooth  as  monumental  alabaster. 
Yet  she  must  die,  else  she  '11  betray  more  men. 

Put  out  the  light, — and  then Put  out — THE  light! 

If  I  quench  thee, — thou  flaming  minister, — 
•     I  can  again  ihj  former  light  restore, 

Should  I  repent  me :  but — once  put  out  thine 

(Thou  cunning'st  pattern  of  excellent  nature), 

I  know  not  where  is  that  Promethean  heat 

That  can — thy  light  relume.  When  I  have  plucked  thy  rose^ 

I  can  not  give  it  vital  growth  again, — 

It  needs  must  wither.     I  '11  smell  it  on  the  tree. 

O  balmy  breath,  that  doth  almost  persuade 

Justice  herself  to  break  her  sword  !    One  more,  one  more ! 

Be  thus  when  thou  art  dead,  and  I  will  kill  thee, — 

And  love  thee  after." 

To  read  or  recite  this  requires  great  rhetorical  expression ;  and  the 
line  wherein  occurs,  "Put  out  the  light,  and  then  put  out  the  light," 
must  be  particularly  significant.  The  phrase  "put  out  the  light"  in 
the  first  case  implies  blow  out  the  candle.  Where  it  is  repeated — thus, 
"  and  then  put  out  the  light" — means  put  out  the  light  of  life;  quite  a 
difierent  matter.  A  rhetorical  pause  ought  therefore  to  be  made 
after  the  word  tlien  and  before  the  word  the — the  taking  also  a 
prolonged  emphatic  circumflex.  To  read  or  recite  this  soliloquy 
merely  in  a  grammatical  manner,  without  emphasis  or  rhetorical 
pause,  would  make  it  unimpressive,  flat,  and  even  farcical — would 
convey  the  idea  that  smothering  one's  wife  was  an  easy  and  simple  act 
in  the  course  of  events. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 


81 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Climax — Deep  Breathing — Air — Stammering. 

In  argumentative  composition  there  is  always  a  point  to  be  made 
clear ;  the  culmination  of  proofs  must  be  enforced  gradually  and  with 
increasing  intensity  of  voice  until  the  climax  is  attained. 

Example  1. — "  Let  us  contemplate  then  this  connection  which  hinds  the 
posterity  of  others  to  our  own ;  and  let  us  manfully  discharge  all  the  duties  it 
imposes.  If  we  cherish  the  virtues  and  principles  of  our  fathers,  Heaven 
will  assist  us  to  carry  on  the  work  of  human  liberty  and  human  hapjnness." 

Example  2. — "Auspicious  omens  cheer  us.  Our  firmament  now  shines 
brightly  above  us.  Washington  is  in  the  clear  upper  sky;  Adams,  Jefferson, 
and  other  stars  have  joined  the  American  constellation; — they  circle  round  the 
center,  and  the  heavens — beam  with  neio — light.  Beneath  this  illumination  let 
us  walk  the  course  of  life;  and — at  its  close  devoutly  commend  our  beloved 
country, — the  common  parent  of  us  all, — to  the  Divine  Benignity." 

In  this  peroration  the  last  clause  should  terminate  in  a  solemn  half- 
whisper,  accompanied  with  the  upraised  hand  of  veneration. 

Another  equally  good  specimen  is  from  the  supposed  speech  of 
John  Adams  on  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  given  elsewhere. 

In  highly  poetical  and  emotional  compositions  the  same  law  of 
preserving  the  climax  must  be  observed,  or  the  beauty  and  perfection 
of  the  idea  as  a  whole  will  be  lost.  To  illustrate  this  we  Avill  take  the 
last  four  verses  of  the  24th  Psalm  in  full,  as  they  are  replete  with 
intense  devotional  fervor  combined  with  great  poetical  exaltation. 
After  enumerating  the  qualities  of  head  and  heart  that  will  insure 
the  blessing  from  the  Lord,  the  Psalmist  bursts  forth  in  this  j^oetical 
rapture  on  the  greatness  and  power  of  the  King  of  glory : 

Lift  up  your  heads, — O  ye  gates;  and  be  ye  lift  up,  ye  everlasting  doors; 
and  the  King  of  glory — shall  come  in. 

Who — i^  this  King — of  glory?  The  Lo7-d — strong  —  and  mighty,  the 
Lord — mighty  in  battle. 

Lift  up  your  heads,  O  ye  gates ;  even  lift  them  up,  ye  everlasting  doors ; — 
and  the  King  of  glory  shall  come  in. 

Who  is — this  Khig  of  glory?    The  Lord  of  Hosts, — he  is  the  King — oi glory. 

6 


82  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTIOX. 

The  following  monologue  (Avliich  Sir  AValter  Scott  put  in  the 
mouth  of  Bertram,  as  descriptive  of  what  that  terrible  outlaw  wished 
his  own  death  to  resemble)  is  given  here  as  an  example.  Bertram 
was  a  tyrannical  and  brutal  character,  showing  compassion  to  none, 
but  ruling  all  over  whom  he  could  gain  the  least  advantage  with  a 
rod  of  iron.  He  wished  his  life  to  have  an  ending  which  would  com- 
port with  his  fearless  career. 

5.  "  And  now, — my  race — of  terror — run, 

6.  Mine — be  the  eve — of  tropic  sun; 

6.      No  pale  gradaiions — quench  his  ray, 

5.  No  twilightC'') — dews — his  wraih  allay: 

4.  With(5)  disk  (3)like  battle  target— rerf, 

6.  He  rushes — t'  his  burning  hed; 

5.  Dyes  the  wide  wave — with  hloody'S')  light; 

3.      Then  sinks — ('•2)at  once, — and  ail  is — (I)night." 


mine — be  the  eve — of  tropic  sun  ; 
And  now,— my  race — of  terror — run, 


No  pale  gradations — quench  his  ray, 
no  twiliL'ht- 


-dews — his  wrath — alia}' 


fO 


he  rushes — t'  his  Vjr.rnin"  bed  ; 
-disk '■ 


With 
like  battle  target — red, — 


light; 
Dyes  the  wide  wave — with  blood)- 


-then  siuks- 


at  once — and  all  is — • 

■ night.- 


ExERCiSE  ON  Pitch,  Rhetorical,  Pause,  Ejiphatic   Circumflex, 

Catiline.    "Banish'd  from  Rome? — "What 's  banish'd — ^but  set  free 
From  daily  contact  with  the  things  I  loathe? 
^  Tried — and  co7ivicted — traitor/'     Who  says  this ? 


MANUAL  OF  EEOCUTIOX.  33 

Who  '11  prove  it,  at  his  peril,  on  my  head? 

Banisii'd — I  thank  you  for  't.     It  breaks  my  chains  I — 

I  held  some  slack  allegiance  till  this  hour; — 

But  now  my  sword  's  my  own.     Smile  on,  my  lords! 

I  scorn  to  count  what  feelings, — wither'd  hopes, — 

Strong  provocations, — bitter, — burning — wro7igs — 

I  have  within  my  heart's  hot  colls  shut  up — 

To  leave  j^ou — in  your  lozi/ — dignities. 

But  here  I  stand  and  scotf  you;    here  I  fling 

Hatred — and  full  defiance  in  your  face. — 

Your  Consul 's  merciful.     For  this,  all  thanks. 

He  dares  not  touch — a  hair  of  Catiline." 

* 

Exercises  embRxVCing  Inflections,  Emphasis,  RHETORiCAii 
Pauses,  Modulation,  and  Prolongation. 

All  the  preceding  knowledge  gained  on  these  subjects  must  be  put 
in  practice  on  these  exercises.  The  numbers  indicate  the  modulation 
of  voice  required,  as  explained  before  by  the  use  of  lines  and  spaces. 
It  will  be  well  for  the  teacher  to  write  these  and  similar  passages  on 
the  blackboard  for  concert  practice,  as  this  will  allow  the  class  per- 
sonal freedom  for  the  graces  of  gesture. 

(c)""What  a  piece  of  work — is  man!  how  noble — in  {5)reason/.  how  infinite — 
in  (G)  FACTJLTT !  in  ^^)fortn — and  (5)  moving — how  (6)  express  and  admirable ! — 
in  action  how — like  an  angel ! — in  apprehension  how — (^)like  a  god!" 

Note. — The  last  " toio  "  must  roceive  the  upward,  concrete  slur  of  three  notes  (4,  5,  G) ;  the 
voice  then  falling  to  the  1st,  by  a  discrete  movement,  on  the  word  "  like,"  finishing  the  climax 
in  a  half-whisper. 

"My  JUDGMENT — approves  this  measure,  and  my  whole  heart — is  in  it:  all 
that  I  have,(-i) — all  that(5)  I  am, — and  all  that(<')  I  hope— in  this  life,(5)  I  am 
11010  ready (■!)  here — to  stake  upon  it; — and  I  leave  off — as  I  began;  th't('l)  siJik — 
or  sicim,{^)  LIVE— or  die,  SURVIVE(G)— or  PEEISH,— (7)/  am  for  the  Dec- 
laration. (4)11  is  my  living  sentiment,  and,(2) — by  the  blessing  of  God, — (^)\t 
shall  be  my  dijhig  sentiment.  (5)  Independence — (C)  now — and  independence 
(9)forevek." 

The  first  essential  qualification  for  becoming  a  good  speaker,  reader, 
or  singer,  is  good  breathing.  It  is  a  solemn  fact  that  one  half  the 
civilized  world  knows  not  how  to  re.?pire.  All  infants  breathe  prop- 
erly ;  but  natural  inflation  is  soon  squeezed  out  of  them.  Air  is  very 
well  for  animals,  but  is  too  common  and  vulgar  for  refined  humanity. 
A  little  air  is  all — a  little  short  breath  to  flutter  and  pant  with  makes 
a  deliciously-interesting  condition  of  health.  It  is  so  exquisite  to  be 
too  delicate  to  sing,  and  too  feeble  to  read  or  converse. 

Very  false  notions  have  hitherto  prevailed  Avith  regard  to  the  im- 
portance of  the  uses  of  bodily  functions.     It  is  time  that  there  should 


84  MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION". 

be  an  earnest  protest  instituted  against  any  neglect  of  them.  They 
Avere  given  us  as  instruments  and  means  of  expressing  the  high,  noble, 
and  almost  infinite  faculties  with  which  our  Creator  has  been  pleased 
to  endow  us,  and  should  be  reverently  and  wisely  preserved  and  used 
for  the  purposes  for  which  they  were  designed.  People  who  squeeze 
all  the  breath  they  can  out  of  their  lungs  should  never  attempt  to 
sing  praises  to  the  name  of  God  "with  voice  and  cornet,"  for  they  can 
not  do  it.  That  which  was  breathed  into  our  nostrils,  and  made  us 
living  souls,  must  have  an  abiding  place ;  and  if  we  give  it  not  room, 
how  can  we  thank  or  praise  him  while  refusing  to  accept  freely  and 
fully  this  first  gift  of  life  ? 

There  are  certain  muscles  used  in  the  act  of  breathing  that  must 
be  strong  and  flexible,  else  the  process  of  respiration  is  very  imperfect, 
the  blood  is  not  vitalized,  and  a  general  debility  and  disease  is  the 
result.  Those  to  which  we  shall  call  special  attention  are  the  dia- 
jihragm  and  the  abdominal  muscles.  If  these  are  weak  and  inactive 
the  person  is  incapable  of  drawing  a  full  breath  and  expelling  it  with 
adequate  force ;  and  under  these  circumstances  it  will  be  out  of  the 
question  for  a  speaker  to  properly  economize  and  utilize  his  breath. 
He  will  suflTer  from  fatigue,  and  be  wanting  in  evenness  and  purity  of 
tone,  and  fail  entirely  in  becoming  impressive. 

The  diaphragm  is  an  exceedingly  elastic  muscle,  dividing  by  its 
grand  arch  the  lungs  above  from  the  stomach  below.  It  is  sometimes 
spoken  of  as  "the  floor  of  the  lungs  and  the  roof  of  the  stomach." 
When  this  muscle  is  strong  and  under  good  control  it  contracts  and 
expands  Avith  great  power.  In  the  process  of  inhaling  breath  it 
sliould  contract  so  as  to  allow  the  lower  air-cells  of  the  lungs  to 
liecome  fully  inflated  with  air.  This  motion  acts  on  the  stomach, 
and  by  its  downward  pressure  on  the  abdominal  muscles  produces  an 
expansion.  In  exhaling  breath  these  motions  are  reversed.  And 
this  beautiful,  harmonious  contraction  and  expansion  of  the  muscles 
not  only  cause  a  vitalization  of  the  blood,  but  incite  the  stomach  to 
activity  and  the  viscera  to  healthy  conditions,  and  render  them  all 
efl[icient  co-operators  in  the  act  of  speaking.  Indeed,  if  proofs  are 
wanted  in  regard  to  the  use  of  these  lower  muscles,  we  may  derive 
instruction  from  observation  of  the  animals  in  their  expulsion  of 
voice-sounds.  Observe  the  cow,  how  her  flanks  expand  and  contract, 
and  what  tremendous  expulsions  of  sound  she  makes,  when  bellowing 
for  her  lost  youngling. 

The  majority  of  persons  breathe  by  taking  as  small  a  quantity  of 
air  as  possible  into  the  upper  portion  of  the  lungs.     If  asked  to  take 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION, 


85 


a  deep  breath,  they  will  iuhale  what  air  they  can,  raise  the  shoulders, 
expand  the  diaphragm,  press  it  up  against  the  lower  portions  of  the 
lungs,  thereby  preventing  any  possibility  of  this  vitalizing  element 
entering  that  region.  And  they  will  hold  this  breath  in  the  upper 
part  of  the  respiratory  organs  as  long  as  they  can,  distending  and 
straining  them  to  tlieir  utmost  capacity.  This  they  call  deep  breath- 
ing; but  the  human  organism  in  a  normal  condition  of  respii'ation 
never  makes  such  spasmodic  exertions.  Deep  breathing  is  quite  a 
different  process,  and  requires  an  op})osite  muscular  movement.  As 
before  stated,  in  the  act  of  inlialing  breath  the  diaphragm  should  con- 
tract and  the  abdominal  muscles  expand,  leaving  room  for  the  lower 
cells  of  the  lungs  to  become  perfectly  inflated.  Then  when  the  return 
action  of  these  muscles  takes  place  there  is  a  goodly  quantity  of  breath 
out  of  which  to  produce  sound  ;  and  these  friendly  muscles  are  in  a 
proper  condition  and  position  to  hold  and  control  the  expulsion  of 
breath,  make  the  vibrations  even  and  the  sounds  pure.  In  the 
method  first  referred  to  the  muscles  have  already  done  their  best  in 
sending  the  air  into  the  upper  cells.  The  contraction  is  already  com- 
pleted, and  they  ai*e  unprepared  to  assist  the  laryngeal  chords  in 
controlling  the  voice-sounds.  Besides,  the  unnatural  forcing  of  air 
into  the  upper  part  of  the  respiratory  organs,  straining  and  distending 
them,  and  the  rapid  expulsion  of  this  concentrated  column  of  breath, 
passing  out  by  mere  force  of  its  accumulation,  excite  undue  activity 
of  the  vocal  chords  and  often  cause  their  paralysis  and  a  consequent 
loss  of  voice.  In  all  cases  it  renders  them  disobedient  to  the  will ; 
the  vibrations  are  uneven  and  the  voice-sounds  imperfect.  Stam- 
mering, weak  throats,  and  bronchial  affections  are  the  results  most 
common.  Indeed,  the  amount  of  labor  thrown  upon  the  laryngeal 
chords  to  perform  without  sufficient  air,  and  without  the  friendly 
co-operation  of  the  dorsal  and  abdominal  muscles,  is  appalling.  And 
the  discordant,  rating,  rasping,  screeching,  sounds  produced  in  con- 
sequence are  enough  to  drive  one  mad  with  torture. 

To  convey  the  ideas  of  the  human  mind,  its  emotions,  its  shades 
of  thought,  requires  a  variety  of  vocal  efforts.  At  times,  loud  and 
strong  tones — again,  high  and  piercing  ones  —  and  again,  delicate 
inflections  and  soft  intonations  are  necessary.  All  these  subtle  move- 
ments of  the  chords  and  muscles  should  be  of  the  nicest  and  most 
delicate  order,  or  the  voice  utterly  fails  to  give  such  expression  as  the 
mind  desires.  Certain  means  must  be  used  to  produce  certain  desired 
results.  Therefore  it  will  be  seen  that  a  full,  natural  respiration  is 
the  first  essential  qualification  for  producing  a  good  voice.     It  is  not 


86  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

to  be  understood  that  good  breathing  is  all  that  is  necessary;  but 
without  a  full  expansion  of  the  lungs,  and  a  perfect  control  of  the 
muscles  used  in  respiration,  there  can  not  be  lasting  resonance  and 
beauty  of  voice. 

The  ancient  teachers  of  vocal  culture,  called  plonasei  or  vocists,  in 
order  to  develop  strength  of  voice  in  their  pupils,  carried  them  through 
a  severe  course  of  training  of  all  the  chords  and  muscles  used  in 
breathing  and  speaking.  How  well  they  understood  the  co-operation 
of  the  diaphragm  and  the  abdominal  muscles  with  the  vocal  apparatus, 
and  the  importance  of  their  strength  and  flexibility,  is  shown  by  their 
compelling  their  pupils  to  lie  on  their  backs  with  weights  on  their 
chests,  and  to  declaim  while  walking,  running,  and  climbing. 

We  know  but  faintly  what  wonderful  power,  flexibility,  and 
sweetness  of  voice  Ave  are  capable  of  cultivating.  The  silver  voice 
of  Cicero  and  the  thunder-tones  of  Demosthenes  echo  through  cen- 
turies and  encourage  us  to  labor  for  perfection.  A  speaker  with  a 
strong,  magnetic  voice  comes  before  his  audience  clothed  with  power. 
There  is  nothing  so  inspiring ;  it  gives  weight  to  thought  and  enforces 
argument.  All  great  orators  and  tragedians  have  possessed  great 
force  and  resonance  in  this  wonder-working  instrument.  It  is  said 
that  Garrick  could  speak  with  ease  to  ten  thousand  people.  Let  any 
one  seriously  contrast  the  full,  round,  healthful  voice  with  a  sick, 
feeble,  squeaking  one,  and  he  will  be  willing  to  work  faithfully  for 
the  better  one. 

INFLUENCE   OF  POETRY  AND  MUSIC. 

As  tlie  tendency  of  poetry — is  to  exalt  the  thoughi,  so  that  of  music  is  to 
exalt  the  affeciions.  As  the  aspirations  of  the  -poet  are  to  raise  the  mind  to 
higher  flights  and  sentiments,  so  those  of  the  musician  are  to  elevate  it  to 
higher  —  and  fuller  exaltation  of  the  emotions.  "We  read  poetry  for  the 
former,  and  resort  to  music  for  the  latter;  and  in  vocal  music  ioth  effects 
are  produced  if  the  m.eans — are  adapted  to  the  end.  Poetry  in  its  external 
form  should  be  expressed  in  language  that  implies  the  elevation  of  the  senti- 
ments, and  be  composed  in  rhythmical  or  metrical  lines.  ^ Music — in  its  outward 
form  is  a  composition  of  varied  sounds  or  tones,  expressed  in  such  style  as  to 
imply  the  elevation  of  the  affections,  and  composed  in  rhythmical  2>Toporiio?i. 
'What  poetry  is — to  thought,  music  is — to  feeling.  As  in  painting  or  in  sculpture 
we  speak  of  the  "poetry  of  forin,"  so  music  may  be  called  the  poetry  of  sound; 
and,  internally,  the  poetry  of  feeling  and  emotion.  How  sad  it  is — to  think  of 
its  being  perverted  and  made  the  servant  or  slave  to  the  lower  passions ! 

Stammering  is  sufficiently  common  to  require  no  description  here, 
further  than  to  say  it  is  a  hesitation  or  interruption  of  speech.  It 
presents  a  variety  of  forms.     In  some  cases  the  stammerer  makes  an 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  87 

efiort  to  speak  while  his  lips  seem  to  be  hermetically  sealed ;  in  others, 
he  will,  while  speaking,  suddenly  lose  all  power  of  volition  over  his 
articulating  organs,  while  his  mouth  remains  wide  open.  Others, 
again,  make  an  efibrt  to  speak,  and  all  breath  is  expelled  without 
producing  a  sound.  In  most  cases,  however,  there  is  usually  little  or 
no  vocality.  To  enumerate  all  the  phases  is  unnecessary,  as  tlie  cause 
is  essentially  the  same  in  all — weakness  of  the  vocal  and  respiratory 
muscles.  But  many  persons  continue  the  habit,  which  was  acquired 
in  a  delicate  state  of  health,  after  these  chords  and  muscles  are  strong. 
In  such  cases  it  becomes  exceedingly  obstinate,  and  requires  great 
patience  and  determination  on  the  part  of  both  pupil  and  teacher  to 
effectually  overcome  it. 

It  will  be  recollected  that  we  have  said  all  voice  or  vocal  sounds 
are  made  in  the  top  of  the  larynx,  and  that  aspirates  are  pure  breath- 
sounds.  Therefore,  when  Ave  find  the  organs  of  speech  simply  give 
us  aspirate-sounds  without  any  voice-sound,  we  refer  the  fault  to  the 
place  where  the  voice  is  produced.  If  the  laryngeal  chords  are  too 
weak  to  obey  volition,  and  can  not  contract  soon  enough  to  obstruct 
the  breath  and  cause  an  immediate  vibration  of  air,  the  tongue 
and  lips  take  the  unvocal  breath  and  make  it  into  aspirates.  The 
organs  are  all  ready  to  talk,  and  the  effort  is  to  co-operate  naturally. 
And  when  the  unfortunate  person  finds  but  a  portion  of  his  organs 
woi'king  vigorously  while  the  rest  are  making  only  spasmodic  efforts, 
it  becomes  embarrassing,  and  this  of  course  only  heightens  the 
difficulty. 

The  first  step  toward  a  cure  is  to  direct  the  mind  of  the  afflicted 
person  to  the  seat  of  the  diflSculty ;  the  second,  a  return  to  a  normal 
condition  of  breathing.  The  patient  must  acquire  a  full,  even  inhala- 
tion and  exhalation  of  air — so  complete  that  the  whole  abdominal 
surface  will  rise  and  fall  harmoniously,  unaccompanied  by  any  spas- 
modic exertions  from  the  top  of  the  lungs,  or  raising  of  the  shoulders. 
Notliing  can  be  done  that  will  give  the  least  promise  of  success  until 
this  much  is  gained.  The  next  step  should  be  a  course  of  vocal 
gymnastics,  with  as  little  talking  as  possible.  Indeed,  it  would  much 
facilitate  improvement  if  talking  should  be  dispensed  with  altogether 
at  first,  and  the  patient  concentrate  all  energy  in  forming  the  vowel- 
sounds.  All  the  vowels  should  be  expelled  by  different  degrees  of 
force,  in  different  lengths,  and  in  different  qualities  of  voice,  until  the 
vocal  muscles  are  strengthened  and  become  perfectly  obedient  to  the 
will — never  forgetting  that  these  exercises  must  be  moderate,  and  be 
discontinued  at  the  slightest  indication  of  fatigue,  and  never  losing 


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00  I^  !^  O  rr  C^  >»  r* 


(91) 


oot~oo'<i>cg<Ni-i 


ao  f  a  >Q  ■^  n  ai  r-i 


(Xt~'StOT<nair* 


92  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

sight  of  the  important  fact  that  the  muscles  and  organs  of  speech, 
like  other  members  of  the  body,  can  be  strengthened  by  use. 

Syllables  containing  pure  voice  and  pure  aspirate-sounds  may  then 
be  taken  as  the  next  step  in  the  order  of  practice;  and  so  on,  slowly 
and  calmly,  to  words;  from  words  to  clauses;  from  clauses  to  sen- 
tences— remembering  always  to  hold  firmly  to  the  vowel-sounds,  at 
least  until  the  habit  is  completely  acquired.  The  vowel-sounds  are 
the  anchor  of  hope  to  the  stammerer.  It  is  often  remarked  that 
stammerers  have  no  trouble  in  singing  what  they  wish,  being  j)erfectly 
understood,  while  they  can  not  speak  a  word  intelligibly.  In  singing 
they  are  ol-liged  to  prolong  and  make  predominant  the  vocal  or  vowel- 
sounds.  The  same  practice  should  obtain  in  speaking,  but  not  to  so 
great  an  extent.  The  stammerer  must  learn  to  use  these  sounds  in 
speech  as  readily  as  in  song,  and  the  battle  is  won. 

We  are  fully  aware  that  no  written  directions  can  take  the  place 
of  the  calm,  strong,  helpful  will  of  a  teacher.  The  magnetic  presence 
of  one  who  will  not  only  inspire  the  patient  to  effort,  but  become  a 
support  and  strength  to  the  yielding  courage,  is  of  great  importance. 
But  let  those  who  are  thus  afflicted  consider  this,  that  no  one  is  with- 
out a  resource;  that,  to  throw  away  all  excitement  and  sensitive 
nervousness  on  the  subject,  calmly  accept  the  inevitable,  and  as  calmly 
determine  to  master  the  difficulty,  will  surely  result*  in  a  triumph  over 
all  obstacles. 

The  tendency  of  most  persons  in  reading  and  Avriting  is  to  let  the 
voice  drop  before  a  climax  is  obtained,  or  the  fury  of  passion  has 
reached  its  height,  which  quite  destroys  the  effect.  To  break  up  this 
habit  the  preceding  exercises  (see  pages  88,  89,  90,  91)  have  been 
arranged  on  lines  similar  to  the  musical  staff.  By  this  means  the  eye 
assists  and  guides  the  voice  in  the  continuous  upward  intensity  wliicli 
belongs  to  the  vigor  of  passion;  and  then  again,  also,  for  the  down- 
ward or  falling  intensity.  These  are  exceedingly  important  exercises, 
and  very  invigorating  and  exciting. 

The  rapid  circumflex  of  voice,  or  running  of  the  scale,  on  a  single 
word,  as  in  the  illustrations,  must  not  be  omitted ;  it  Avill  be  impos- 
sible to  produce  the  desired  effect  Avithout  it.  If  the  word  iip,  as 
illustrated  on  the  chart,  is  first  struck  on  the  high  pitch  of  voice  upon 
which  the  preceding  and  following  words  are  uttered,  there  is  nothing 
gained  but  a  severe  strain  of  the  vocal  chords.  But  tlie  rapid,  upward 
circumflex  of  voice,  or  running  of  the  scale,  ending  on  the  high  pitch, 
will  give  the  full  expression  and  not  injure  the  voice.  This  rule  holds 
good  in  all  intense  emphatic  words  in  which  the  climax  is  centered. 


MANUAL   OF  ELOCUTION.  93 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Pitch  —  The  Orotitxd  Voice  —  The  Falsetto  —  The  Conversational 
Voice — The  Grave  Voice — The  Tremolo — The  Whisper — Various 
Movements  of  Voice. 

There  is  a  diversity  of  opinion  among  authors  in  regard  to  what 
constitutes  the  orotund  and  the  falsetto  voices;  and  after  the  most 
elaborate  descriptions  students  are  no  wiser,  but  are  frequently  more 
puzzled  than  before. 

The  name  "orotund,"  or  round  tone,  perhaps  contains  within  itself 
the  best  definition  that  can  be  given.  It  properly  means  a  prolonged 
utterance  on  a  high  pitch  of  voice,  but  not  so  high  as  to  preclude 
the  sound  from  a  ringing  fullness  of  tone.  To  make  it  the  mouth 
must  be  wide  open,  the  lips  projected,  the  voice  pitched  j^erhaps  on 
B,  below  the  middle  C,  of  the  musical  scale,  and  ranging  in  general 
modulation  up  to  E  for  female  voices ;  the  male  voice  will  be  a  fifth, 
or  an  octave,  below.  In  producing  this  voice  the  organs  are  open, 
allowing  a  greater  and  more  forcible  column  of  air  to  pass  out, 
causing  a  great  breadth  of  vibration. 

This  is  a  general  rule ;  but  of  course  organic  diversity  must  ahvays 
be  respected.  Whatever  the  organism  may  be,  producing  either  alto 
or  treble,  bass  or  tenoi',  each  human  voice  has  its  relatively  high,  low, 
and  medium  tones.  The  natural  pitch  of  each  is  the  predominating 
tone  used  in  speaking  and  reading;  and  the  protracted  exercises  of 
speaking  requires  that  there  be  no  violation  of  this  organic  law.  Still, 
in  recitative  exercises,  one  person  may  assume  a  variety  of  keys,  and 
carry  on  quite  a  dialogue,  sustaining  each  pitch  of  voice  very  satis- 
factorily. 

The  orotund  is  one  of  the  most  commanding  and  impressive  move- 
ments of  the  voice.  It  fully  displays  the  majesty  of  man  as  a  being 
of  soul,  of  thought,  of  imagination,  and  will.  It  is  a  quality  of  voice 
that  every  public  si^eaker  should  cultivate,  for  it  bears  vital  and 
magnetic  forces  on  its  wings.     The  patriotic  and  the  loftier  feelings 


94  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

of  the  soul  are  touched  and  aroused  by  its  potency,  and  the  religious 
emotion*  awakened  at  its  magic  call. 

"  Now  for  the  fight !     Now  for  the  cannon-peal ! 

Forward — through  blood,  and  toil,  and  cloud,  and  fire ! 
Glorious  the  shout,  the  shock,  the  crash  of  steel,  ■» 

The  volley's  roll,  the  rocket's  blasting  spire! 

They  shake !  like  broken  waves  their  squares  retire ! 
On  them,  hussars !     Now  give  them  rein  and  heel ! 

Think  of  the  orphan'd  child,  the  murdered  sire: 
Earth  cries  for  blood !     In  thunder  on  them  wheel ! 
This  hour  to  Europe's  fate  shall  set  the  triumph-seal !  " 

Exercises  in  Orotund  Voice. 

In  the  following  exercises  the  voice  ranges  from  G,  on  the  fifth 
of  the  scale,  to  B,  C,  D,  and  E: 

[B)  "Majestic  monarch — of  the  cloud! 

Who  rear'st  aloft — thy  regal  form 
To  hear — the  tempest — trumpings  loud. 
And  see  the  lightning  lances  driven,  ' 

When  strive — the  warriors  of  the  storm 
And  rolls — the  thunder-drum  of  heaven ! — 

(C)  Child  of  the  sun! — to  thee  'tis  given 
*  To  guard  the  banner  of  the/ree, — 

To  hover — in  the  sulphur  smoke, 
To  ward  away — the  Sa^^ie-stroke, 
[E)        And  bid  its  blendings — shine  afar, — 
Like  rainbows — on  the  cloud  of  war. 
The  harbmgers — of  victory." — Drake. 

(C)  "No,  let  us  rather  choose, — 

Arm'd  with  hell-flames  and  fury — all  at  once — 

(E)        O'er  heaven^ s  high  tow'rs  to  force  resistless  way, 
Turning  our  tortures  into  horrid  arms 
Against  the  torturer,  [B)  when, — to  meet  the  noise 
Of  his  almighty  engine^ — he  shall  hear 
Infernal  thunder,  and — for  lightning  see 
Black ^re  and  horror  shot  with  equal  rage 
Among  his  angels;  and  his  [E)  throne  itself 
Mixt  with  Tartarean  sulphur  and  strange  fire, 
His  own  invented  torments." — Milton. 

"The  horrors  and  cruelties  of  civil  and  intestine  war,  the  bloodshed  and 
the  barbarism  of  the  battle-field,  the  furies  and  the  crimes  attendant  upon 
massacre,  conflagration,  and  j)illfige,  can  never  be  made  to  prepare  the  way  for 
the  blessings  of  liberty, — peace, — and  equal  rights  to  enter — and  take  up  their 
abode  in  any  land.    They  serve  only  to  bind  upon  it  still  more  firmly  the  burden 


MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION,  95 

and  the  woes  of  slavery  and  sin.  'AH  they  that  take  the  sword'  (that  is,  select 
and  adopt  it  as  the  means  of  improving  their  social  or  political  condition) 
'shall  perish  with  the  sword.'  But  truth — is  mighttj,  reasoti — is  mighty,  con- 
science— is  mighty,  yet  the  spirit  of  human  and  of  Christian  benevolence  is 
m,ightier  than  them  all, — and  the  most  despised  minority,  the  most  trampled 
victims  of  oppi'cssion  and  slavery,  if  they  make  these  the  weapons  of  their 
warfare,  and  wield  them  in  faith,  patience,  and  perseverance,  will  be  sure  to 
conquer, — for  God — will  be  their  ally.  And  the  strongest  and  fiercest — giant, 
who  comes  to  the  field  with  a  spear,  and  with  a  sword,  and  with  a  shield  will 
be  sure  to  fall  before  the  merest  stripling  who  meets  them  in  the  name 
of— the  Lord."— C.  W.  Upham. 

The  falsetto,  as  its  name  implies,  is  false  voice.  "VVe  may  more 
properly  say  a  strained  voice.  In  oratory  it  is  talking  on  a  higher 
pitch  than  the  orotund,  and  partakes  of  the  tones  used  in  the  effort 
of  calling  or  talking  to  persons  at  a  distance.  To  produce  it  properly 
the  imagination  should  be  directed  to  distance.  The  lips  and  corners 
of  the  mouth  are  drawn  further  back  than  in  producing  the  orotund, 
and  the  sound  is  more  shrill.  The  round  O  will  best  represent  the 
orotund  tone  and  the  compressed  0  the  falsetto. 

This  quality  of  voice  is  not  much  used  in  speaking,  yet  we  have 
many  passages  in  recitations  where  it  occurs,  adding  usually  great 
rhetorical  force  and  beauty  of  expression,  by  its  bursting  suddenly 
upon  the  hearer,  in  tones  from  eight  to  ten  notes  higher  than  the 
general  tenor  of  the  piece.  It  occurs  in  passages  where  intense 
excitement  or  alarm  is  to  be  exhibited,  as  in  the  cry  of  fire,  help, 
or  of  resistance,  of  victory,  and  in  calling  and  hailing  persons  at  a 
distance;  as,  (^)Fire!  (")Fiee!  (lo)FIRE! 

"  'Ah ! '  she  said,  '  the  eyes  of  Panguk 
Glare  upon  me  in  the  darkness; 
I  can  feel  his  icy  fingers 

Clasping  mine  amid  the  darkness.' 
(»)Hiawatha!  (IO)Hiawatha  ! " 

"The  midday  watch  was  set  beneath  the  blaze  of  light, 
When  there  came — a  cry  from  the  tall  mast-head, 

ai)'A  sail!  (I2)a  sail  in  sight ! ' " 

This  voice,  when  used  to  represent  sounds  in  the  distance,  must  be 

fainter  and  much  softer  than  that  pitch  of  voice  used  in  representing 

something  near.: 

"When  o'er  the  silent  seas  alone 
For  days  and  nights  we  've  cheerless  gone. 
Oh!  they  who  've  felt  it  know  how  sweet 
Some  sunny  morn  a  sail  to  meet. 


gg  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

Sparkling  at  once  is  every  eye; 
(9)  'Ship  ahoy!   (lO)ship  ahoy  ! '  our  joyful  cry; 
While  answering  back  the  sounds  we  hear, 
(11) ' Ship  a/ioy/  (i^)s/wju  ahoy !  what  cheer?  what  cheer?'" 

The  conversational  voice,  though  it  should  be  pure  in  tone,  is  re- 
stricted in  compass  or  prolongation,  and  the  vibrations  are  not  so 
forcible  as  in  the  orotund.  Very  many  people,  in  common  conver- 
sation, run  into  an  insipid  falsetto,  mixed  with  nasal  tones,  which  are 
exceedingly  grating  to  the  ear  of  the  listener. 

We  may  perhaps  be  allowed  to  add  here  that  this  nasal-sound  is  a 
predominant  fault  in  some  parts  of  our  country.  But  it  should  never 
be  dignified,  as  it  sometimes  is,  by  naming  it  a  head-voice.  There  is 
no  such  thing  as  a  head-voice  in  nature.  It  is  a  habit,  and  an  exceed- 
ingly bad  one,  of  perverting  pure  sound ;  forcing  it  through  the  nose 
when  it  ought  to  have  free  passage  through  the  open  mouth.  There 
is  but  one  pure  nasal-sound  in  the  English  alphabet,  which  occurs  on 
ng  or  nk,  and  in  this  there  is  no  mixture  of  mouth-sound.  31  and  n 
are  formed  in  the  back  of  the  mouth,  and  the  sound  thrown  through 
the  nose.  They  are  mixed  mouth  and  nasal-sounds.  If  there  is  any 
stoppage  of  this  passage,  by  a  drying  of  the  secretions,  by  catarrh,  or 
by  snuff-taking,  these  sounds  can  not  be  produced,  Mdiile  the  swallowed 
sounds  of  bo,  d,  gr  usually  take  their  place.  If  persons  thus  affected 
attempt  to  say  "good  morning"  the  result  is  good  hordig.  This  is  not 
more  objectionable,  however,  than  the  constant  habit  of  driving  the 
sound  through  the  nose  or  splitting  it  between  the  nasal  and  mouth 
passages.  This  habit  prevails  so  widely  in  some  parts  of  the  United 
States — the  sounds  are  so  common — that  they  are  unnoticed,  and 
persons  imitate  each  other  by  association  without  knowing  it.  To 
remedy  this  it  is  necessary  to  husband  the  expenditure  of  the  breath, 
holding  the  sound  firmly,  and  forcing  it  out  through  the  open  mouth. 
This,  like  other  bad  habits,  requires  frequent  friendly  hints  from 
associates  if  we  would  have  it  effectually  eradicated. 

Others  again  talk  on  one  key  without  modulation  or  breath.  In- 
cessant talkers  generally  choose  this  manner,  and  are  called  tiresome 
and  disagreeable.  The  painful  sympathy  of  the  listener,  occasioned 
by  their  want  of  breath  wherewith  to  make  pure  sounds,  is  almost 
intolerable.  To  be  decently  smothered  would  be  merciful  in  com- 
parison. 

The  following  example  shows  the  ascent  from  the  conversational 
to  the  falsetto,  and  the  descent  to  the  conversational  voice : 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  97 

"The  war — that  for  a  space  did  fail 
Now  trebly  thundering  swell'd  the  gale, 

And — Stanley — was  the  cry. 
A  light  on  Marmion's  visage  spread, 

And  fired  his  glazing  eye; 
With  dying  hand  above  his  head 
He  shook  the  fragment  of  his  blade, 
And  shouted,  'Victory!     Charge,  Chester,  charge! 
On,  Stanley,  ON  ! ' 
Were  the  last  words  of  Marmion." 

The  grave  tones  of  voice  are  the  antipodes  of  the  orotund  and  fal- 
setto, and  are  used  in  solemn  and  impressive  styles,  which  are  more 
difficult  to  acquire.  The  transition  of  the  voice  from  the  extreme 
upper  tones  of  the  falsetto  to  a  full  low  register  in  many  instances  is 
productive  of  marvelous  rhetorical  effects,  and  repays  the  student  for 
the  labor  of  acquiring  such  power. 

"The  world  was  void; 
The  populous  and  the  powerful  was  a  lump, 
Seasonless, — herbless, — treeless, — manless, — lifeless ; — 
A  lump — of  death ; — a  chaos — of  hard  clay. 
The  rivers, — lakes, — and  ocean — all  stood  still ; 
And  nothing  stirr'd — within  their  silent  depths. 
Ships,  sailorless, — lay  rotting  on  the  sea, 
And  their  masts  fell  down  piecemeal ;  as  they  dropp'd. 
They  slept  on  the  abyss  without  a  surge. 
The  waves  were  dead ;  the  tides  were  in  their  grave ; — 
The  moon,  their  mistress,  had  expired  before ; 
The  winds  were  wither'd  in  the  stagnant  air; 
And  the  clouds  perished. — Darkness  had  no  need 
Of  aid  from  them; — she — was  the  universe." 

"  But  Linden  saw  another  sight. 
When  the  drum  beat  at  dead  of  night, 
Commanding  fires  of  death  to  light 
The  darkness  of  her  scenery." 

Example  of  ascent  from  the  grave  tones  of  voice  into  the  orotund, 
ending  in  the  falsetto : 

"The  combat  deepens; — on,  ye  brave, 
Who  rush  to  glory,  or  the  grave! 
Wave, ^Munich,  all  thy  banners  wave! 
And  charge  with  all  thy  chivalry!" 

Tremor  of  voice  is  produced  by  a  retention  of  the  volume  of  air  in 
the  larynx,  with  the  glottis  sufficiently  contracted  to  prevent  an  even 

7 


98  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

esca^je  of  sound.  The  escaping  air  playing  upon  the  chords  of  the 
glottis,  and  this  double  vibratory  force  reaching  the  sounding-board 
above,  gives  a  tremulous  or  wavy  sound  of  the  voice,  corresponding 
somewhat  to  the  trembling,  buzzing  sound  produced  in  making  the 
name-sound  of  z.  But  the  difference  between  these  is  wide ;  the  first 
being  an  emotional  sound  formed  in  the  voice-chamber,  the  other  an 
articulating  sound  made  by  the  tongue  and  teeth.  There  are  many 
emotions  which  can  not  be  expressed  without  this  effort.  It  is  used 
in  sorrow,  in  terror,  and  in  distress  of  mind.  Bestow  much  practice 
on  the  trilled  words : 

"  Cromwell, — I  did  not  think — to  shed  a  tear 
In  all  my  miseries;   but  thou  hast  forced  me, 
Out  of  thy  honest  truth,  to  play — the  woman." 

Queen  Katharine  said,  in  commending  her  daughter  to  Henry,  "And 
a  little  to  love  her,  for  her  mother's  sake;  who  loved  him — Heaven 
knows  how  dearly!" 

That  which  gives  beauty  to  all  the  qualities  of  the  voice  is  feeling. 
We  must  feel  what  Ave  say. 

"  Hark — I  hear  thy  thunder's  sound 
Shake  the  forum — round — and  round. 
Shake — the  pillars — of  the  earth !  " 

"  Tried — and  convicted — traitor  ! — Who  says  this  ? 
'  Banish'd !' — I  thank  you  for  it." 

"Unnerved,  and  now  unsettled  in  his  mind. 
From  long  and  exquisite  pain,  he  sobs  and  cries, 
Kissing  the  old  man's  cheek, — '  Help  me, — my  father  1 
Let  me,  I  pray  thee, — live  once  more  among  ye. 
Let  me — go  home.'     '  My  son,'  returns  the  Doge, 

'  Obey. — Thy  country  wills  it.'  " 

Hamlet.     Oh !  that  this  too,  too  solid  flesh  would  melt, 
Thaw  and  resolve  itself  into  a  dew ; 
Or  that  the  Everlasting  had  not  fixed 
His  canon  'gainst  self-slaughter.      O  God!   O  God! 
How  weary,  stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable 
Seem  to  me  all  the  uses  of  this  world ! 
Fie  on  't !    O  fie !  't  is  an  un weeded  garden, 
That  goes  to  seed;  things  rank,  and  gross  in  nature, 
Possess  it  merely.     That  it  should  come  to  this ! 
But  two  months  dead ! — nay,  not  so  much,  not  two : 
So  excellent  a  king;  that  was,  to  this, 


MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION.  99 

Hyperion  to  a  satyr :  so  loving  to  my  mother, 

That  he  might  not  beteem  the  winds  of  heaven 

Visit  her  face  too  roughly.     Heaven  and  earth ! 

Must  I  remember?  why,  she  would  hang  on  him 

As  if  increase  of  appetite  had  grown 

By  what  it  fed  on ;  and  yet,  within  a  month, — 

Let  me  not  think  on  't. — Frailty,  thy  name  is  woman  I — 

A  little  month;  or  ere  those  shoes  were  old 

"With  which  she  followed  my  poor  fother's  body, — 

Like  Niobe,  all  tears ; — why  she,  even  she 

(O  God !  a  beast,  that  wants  discourse  of  reason, 

Would  have  mourn'd  longer) — married  with  my  uncle, 

My  father's  brother,  but  no  more  like  my  father 

Than  I  to  Hercules, — within  a  month ; 

Ere  yet  the  salt  of  most  unrighteous  tears 

Had  left  the  flushing  in  her  galled  eyes, 

She  married. — Oh,  most  wicked  speed,  to  post 

With  such  dexterity  to  incestuous  sheets  I 

It  is  not,  nor  it  can  not  come  to,  good ; 

But  break,  my  heart,  for  I  must  hold  my  tongue  I 

Pure  ivhisper  is  the  use  of  the  aspirate-sounds  without  any  mixture 
of  voice.     It  is  usually  the  language  of  fear  and  secrecy. 

Macbeth.     I  have  done  the  deed. — Didst  thou  not  hear  a  noise? 

Lady  Macbeth.     I  heard  the  owl  scream,  and  the  crickets  cry. 
Did  not  you  speak  ? 

Macb.  When  ? 

Lady  M.  Now. 

Macb.  As  I  ascended? 

Lady  M.     Ay. 

Macb.  Hark ! 

Who  lies  1'  the  second  chamber  ? 

Lady  M.  Donalbain. 

Macb.     This  is  a  sorry  sight. 

Lady  M.     A  foolish  thought  to  say  a  sorry  sight. 

Examples  of  the  grave  voice  falling  occasionally  in  a  half  whisper : 

"  Unseen  hands — of  spirits — are  ringing  his  knell. 
And  the  death-angel— ;^«ps — his  broad  wing  o'er  the  wave." 

"  Deep  into  that  darkness  peering,  long  I  stood  there, — wondering, — fearing. 
Doubting,  dreaming  dreams  no  mortals  ever  dared  to  dream  before ; 
But  the  silence  was  unbroken,  and  the  stillness  gave  no  token, 

And  the  only  word  there  spoken  was  the  whisper' d  word,  'Lenore/' 
This  I  whisper'd,  and  an  echo  murmur'd  back  the  word,  '  Lenore ! ' 
Merely  this,  and  nothing  more." 


100  MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION. 

The  following  words  uttered  by  Lady  Macbeth  must  be  given 
mostly  in  a  prolonged  half  whisper,  with  a  liberal  use  of  rhetorical 
pauses : 

Physician.     How  came  she  by  that  light? 

Gent.  Why,  it  stood  by  her;  she  has  light  by  her  continually;  'tis  her 
command. 

Phy.    You  see,  her  eyes  are  open. 

Gent     Ay, — but  their  sense  is  shut. 

Phy.    What  is  it  she  does  now  ?     Look,  how  she  rubs  her  hands. 

Gent.  It  is  an  accustomed  action  with  her,  to  seem  thus  washing  her  hands : 
I  have  known  her  continue  in  this  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Lady  M.     Yet  here  's  a  spot. 

Phy.     Hark !  she  speaks. 

Lady  M.  Out,  damned  spot! — out,  I  say!  One,  two;  why,  then  'tis  time 
to  do 't !  Hell — is  murky !  Fie, — my  lord,^e  /  a  soldier  and  afeard  ?  What  need 
we  fear  who  knows  it,  when  none  can  call  our  power — to  account  ?  Yet — who 
would  have  thought  the  old  m,an  to  have  had  so  much  blood  in  him  ? 

Phy.     Do  you  mark  that? 

Lady  M.  The  Thane  of  Fife  had  a  wife;  Where  is  she  now?  What, — will 
these  hands  ne'er  be  clean?  No  more  o'  that,  my  lord, — no  more  o'  that;  you 
mar  all  with  this  starting. 

Phy.     Go  to,  go  to ;  you  have  known  what  you  should  not. 

Gent.  She  has  spoken  what  she  should  not,  I  am  sure  of  that :  Heaven 
knows  what  she  has  known. 

Lady  M.  Here's  the  smell  of  the  blood  still: — all  the  perfumes  of  Arabia 
will  not  sweeten  this — little  hand.     Oh! — oh! — oh! 

Phy.     What  a  sigh  is  there !     The  heart  is  sorely  charged. 

Gent.  I  would  not  have  such  a  heart  in  my  bosom  for  the  dignity  of  the 
whole  body. 

Lady  M.  Wash  your  hands, — put  on  your  night-gown ;  look  not  so  pale  : 
I  tell  you  yet  again,  Banquo  's  buried ;  he  can  not  come  out  of  his  grave. 

Phy.     Even  so. 

Lady  M.  To  bed,  to  bed ;  there  's  knocking  at  the  gate.  Come, — come, — 
come, — come,  give  me  your  hand:  what's  do7ie — can  not  be  undone.  To  bed, — 
to  bed, — to  bed. 

Phy.     Will  she  go  now  to  bed  ? 

Ge7it.     Directly. 

Phy.     More  needs  she  the  divine  than  the  physician. 

ExAMPiiES  OF  Various  Movements  of  Voice. 

rOKCIBLE. 

"  Now  storming  fury  rose, — 
And  clamor ; — such  as  heard  in  heaven  till  now 
Was  never  ;  arms  on  armor  «lashing,  brayed 
Horrible  discord;  and  the  madding  wheels 
Of  brazen  chariots  raged." 


MANUAL  OP  ELOCUTION.  JQI 

STRONG. 

"  Him — the  Almighty  Power 
Hurl'd  headlong  flaming  from  the  ethereal  sky, 
"With  hideous  ruin  and  combustion — down 
To  bottomless  perdition  ; — there  to  dwell 
In  adamantine  c/uiins,  and  penal ^re, 
Who  durst  defy  the  Omnipotent  to  aiTm." 

HARSH,  STRONG,  AND   FORCIBLE. 

"Blow,  winds,  and  crack  your  cheeks! — rage  I  blow  I 
You  cataracts  and  hurricanoes,  spout 
Till  you  have  drenched  our  steeples,  drowned  the  cocks  I 
You — sulphurous  and  thought-executing  fires, 
'Vaunt-couriers  of  oak-cleaving  thunderbolts^ 
Singe  my  white  head ! 
And  thou,  all-shaking  thunder, 
Strike  flat  the  thick  rotundity  o'  the  world  1 " 

LIGHT   AND    AIRY    MOVEMENTS. 

"So  millions — are  smit — with  the  glare  of  a  toy: 
They  grasp  at  a  pebble — and  call  it — a  geyn, 
And  tinsel — is  gold  (if  it  glitters)  to  them; 
Hence,  dazzled  with  beauty,  the  lover  is  smit; 
The  hero — with  honor,  the  poet — with  wit; 
The /op — with  hh  feather,  his  smtff-hox  and  cane, 
The  nymph  with  her  novel,  the  merchant  with  gain: 
Each  ^nical  priest  and  Y>o\\te  piilpiteer. 
Who  dazzles  the  fancy,  and  tickles  the  ear 
With  exquisite  tropes  and  musical  style, 
As  gay  as  a  tulip, — as  polished  as  oil. 
Sells  truth — at  the  shrine  of  polite  eloquence, 
To  please  the  soft  taste  and  allure  the  gay  sense." 

DIGNITY    AND   QUANTITY. 

"High  on  a  throne — of  royal  state,  which  far 
Outshone  the  wealth  of  Ormus  and — of  Ind, — 
Or — where  the  gorgeous  East  with — richest  hand — 
Show'rs — on  her  kings — barbaric — pearl  and  gold, — 
Satan  exalted  sat, — by  merit  raised 
To  that  bad  eminence, — and,  from  despair — 
Thus  high  uplifted  beyond  hope,  aspires 
Beyond  thus  high, — insatiate  to  pursue 
Vain  war  with  Heaven" 

SOFT   AND   SMOOTH. 

"How  sweet  the  wtoow-light  sleeps  upon  this  bank, 
Here  will  we  sit,  and  let  the  sounds  of  music — 
Creep  in  our  ears ;  soft  stillness,  and  the  night — 
Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony P ^ 


102  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

QUICK   AISTD   JOYOUS. 

"  Let  the  merry  hells  ring  round, 
And  the  jocund  rebeck  sound, 
To  many  a  youth — and  many  a  maid, 
Dancing — in  the  checkered  shade. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Modulation  —  Delivery  —  Examples  in  Various  Styles:  Tenderness; 
Rapid,  Light,  and  Brilliant;  Awful;  Threatening;  Revenge; 
Scorn;  Disgust  and  Contempt;  Sarcasm;  Remorse  and  Humilia- 
tion; Contrition  and  Doubt;  Fear;  Love;  Sorrow  and  Grief; 
Horror  and  Agony. 

Modulation  comprises  all  the  qualities  of  speech  heretofore  treated, 
from  the  division  of  accent,  and  all  qualities  of  voice  in  shades  of 
inflection  and  varieties  of  pitch.  To  have  good  modulation  requires 
the  mastery  of  every  element  in  the  art,  with  judgment  and  taste 
to  direct  their  use.  This  gives  the  music  of  speech  and  the  melody 
of  oratory. 

The  most  delicate  shades  of  sound  are  those  made  by  human 
speech.  It  is  through  the  ear  that  we  learn  to  imitate  sound,  as 
through  the  eye  we  learn  to  imitate  motions.  Let  not  persons  say 
they  can  not  learn  to  sing  because  they  have  no  ear  for  music — can 
not  detect  sound  or  learn  tunes.  If  such  had  not  possessed  a  dis- 
criminating ear,  they  never  could  have  learned  to  utter  those  words 
in  which  they  say  they  have  not  the  ability  to  detect  sound.  They 
are  denying  the  sounds  they  use. 

'T  is  true  Ave  all  have  ears,  and  hear  not  the  wonderful  sounds  that 
strike  the  tympanum;  but  it  is  because  consciousness  is  not  atten- 
tive— does  not  listen  for  them;  and  of  course  the  mouth  can  not 
articulate  what  is  unknown  to  the  ear.  The  dumb  are  only  so 
because  the  ear  is  dead.  Therefore  those  who  have  eyes  and  ears 
need  never  limit  their  attainments. 

EuLES. — To  be  lieard  distinctly  at  a  distance  requires  a  full  expul- 
sion of  the  wn;eZ-sounds ;  to  be  uiiderstood  requires  a  clear  and  perfect 
articulation  of  the  aspirates  and  svhvoivels ;  to  be  apjyreciated  the  voice 
must  be  modulated  so  as  to  present  each  new  thought  or  sentiment  on 
a  different  pitch  from  the  preceding  one. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  103 

Delivery  is  word-painting ;  the  speaker  sees  the  subject  in  his  mind 
distinctly.  If  it  is  a  picture  of  a  landscape,  a  battle-scene,  a  death- 
scene,  it  matters  not  what,  it  must  be  first  distinctly  understood  and 
appreciated  by  the  individual  before  any  attempt  should  be  made  to 
express  it.  We  have  words,  similes,  tropes,  analogies — the  various 
tones  and  movemdhts  of  voice,  which  correspond  to  the  pigments  of 
the  artist — by  which  we  transfer  what  we  have  in  our  own  mind  to 
the  minds  of  others.  Therefore  let  the  student  get  a  general  outline 
of  the  subject  of  the  piece  he  is  about  to  recite.  First  comprehend 
the  general  situation  of  affairs,  then  the  various  objects  in  its  com- 
position, their  relations  to  each  other  and  to  the  main  subject,  and 
then,  by  voice  and  action,  endeavor  to  make  it  intelligible  to  others, 
exactly  as  it  lies  in  his  own  mind. 

Take  the  following  extract,  learn  it,  analyze  it,  review  it,  and  then 
recite  it : 

[King  Henry  before  the  pates  of  Harfleur;  the  governor  and  citizens  above,  on  the  walls 
of  tlie  besieged  city.  The  attitude  and  action  tliose  of  one  spealting  to  an  audience  at  some 
elevation — the  voice  loud  and  prolonged,  to  enable,  it  to  be  heard  at  a  distance  ;  together  with 
the  imperious  tone  of  command,  to  express  the  matter  of  the  speech,  the  tenor  of  which  is 
a  threat.] 

K.  Henry.  How  yet  resolves  the  governor  of  the  town  ? 
This  is  the  latest  parle  we  will  admit : 
Therefore  to  our  best  mercy  give  yourselves ; 
Or,  like  to  men  proud  of  destruction, 
Defy  us  to  our  worst:  for  as  I  am  a  soldier — 
A  name  that  in  my  thoughts  becomes  me  best — 
If  I  begin  the  battery  once  again, 
I  will  not  leave  the  half-achieved  Harfleur 
Till  in  her  ashes  she  lie  buried. 
The  gates  of  mercy  shall  be  all  shut  up; 
And  the  flesh'd  soldier,  rough  and  hard  of  heart, 
In  liberty  of  bloody  hand  shall  range 
With  conscience  wide  as  hell;  mowing  like  grass 
Your  fresh  fair  virgins  and  your  flowering  infants, 
"What  is  it  then  to  me  if  impious  war, 
Array'd  in  flames  like  the  prince  of  fiends, 
Do,  with  his  smirch'd  complexion,  all  fell  feats 
Enlink'd  to  waste  and  desolation? 
What  is 't  to  me,  when  you  yourselves  are  cause, 
If  your  pure  maidens  fall  into  the  hand 
Of  hot  and  forcing  violation  ? 
What  rein  can  hold  licentious  wickedness 
When  down  the  hill  he  holds  his  fierce  career? 
We  may  as  bootless  spend  our  vain  command 
Upon  the  enraged  soldiers  in  their  spoil, 
As  send  precepts  to  the  Leviathan 


104  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

To  come  ashore.     Therefore,  you  men  of  Harfleur, 

Take  pity  of  your  town  and  of  your  people, 

Whiles  yet  my  soldiers  are  in  my  command ; 

"Whiles  yet  the  cool  and  temperate  wind  of  grace 

O'erblows  the  filthy  and  contagious  clouds 

Of  deadly  murder,  spoil,  and  villainy. 

If  not,  why,  in  a  moment,  look  to  see 

The  blind  and  bloody  soldier  with  foul  hand 

Defile  the  locks  of  your  shrill-shrieking  daughters ; 

Your  fathers  taken  by  the  silver  beards, 

And  their  most  reverend  heads  dash'd  to  the  walls; 

Your  naked  infants  spitted  upon  pikes. 

Whiles  the  mad  mothers  with  their  howls  confused 

Do  break  the  clouds,  as  did  the  wives  of  Jewry 

At  Herod's  bloody-hunting  slaughtermen. 

What  say  you?     Will  you  yield,  and  this  avoid? 

Or,  guilty  in  defense,  be  thus  destroy' d? 

Examples  in  Various  Styles. 

TENDERNESS. 

"  There 's  another, — not  a  sister ; — in  the  happy  days  gone  by 
You  'd  have  known  her — ^by  the  merriment  that  sparkled  in  her  eye; 
Tell  her — the  last  night  of  my  life  (for  ere  the  moon  be  risen 
My  body  will  be  out  of  pain,  my  soul  be  out  of  prison) 
I  dreamed  I  stood  with  her,  and  saw  the  yellow  sunlight  shine 
On  the  vme-clad  hills — of  Bingen,  fair  Bingen  on  the  Rhine ! 
I  saw  the  blue  Rhine  sweep  along, — I  heard,  or  seemed  to  hear, 
The  German  songs  we  used  to  sing,  in  chorus  sweet  and  clear ; 
And  doivn  the  pleasant  river,  and  uj)  the  slanting  hill. 
The  echoing  chorus  sounded,  through  the  evening  calm  and  still ; 
And  her  glad — blue  eyes  were  on  me  as  we  passed  with  friendly  talk, 
Down  many  a  path  beloved  of  yore,  and  weiZ-rememhered  walk ; 
And  her  little  hand  lay  lightly, — confidingly  in  mine ; 
But  we  '11  meet  no  tnore  at  Bingen,  loved  Bingen  on  the  Rhine !  " 

[Mrs.  Norton, 
gentle — tender. 
"  Softly !     She  is  lying 
With  her  lips  apart. 
Softly  I     She  is  dying 
Of  a  broken  heart. 
Whisper!    She  is  going 

To  her  final  rest. 
Whisper!     Life  is  growing 

Dim  within  her  breast. 
Gently  I    She  is  sleeping ; 

She  has  breathed  her  last. 
Gently  !    While  you  are  weeping, 
She  to  heaven  has  passed !" 


MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION.  105 

RAPID,    LIGHT,   AND    BRILLIANT. 

"  I  come !  I  cowie  /  ye  have  called  me  long : 
I  come  o'er  the  mountains  with  light  and  song  I 
Ye  may  trace  my  step  o'er  the  wakening  earth, 
By  the  winds  which  tell  of  the  violet's  birth, 
By  the  primrose  stars  in  the  shadowy  grass, 
By  the  green  leaves  opening  as  I  pass," 

"  Away  !  away  to  the  mountain's  brow, 
Where  the  trees  are  gently  waving; 
Away !  away  to  the  vale  below, 

"Where  the  streams  are  gently  laving." 

SLO"W,    AND    EXPRESSIVE    OF   THE   AWFUL. 

"  I  had  a  dream — which  was  not  all  a  dream : — 
The  bright  hin  was  extinguished; — and  the  stars 
Did  wander — darkling  in  the  eternal  space, 
Rayless — and  pathless ;  and  the  icy  earth 
Swung  blind  and  blackening — in  the  moonless  air; 
Morn  came^  and  went,  and  came,  and  brought  no  day." 

[Byron. 

threatening conversational. 

Cassius.  Brutus, — bay  not  me ! 
I  '11  not  endure  it.     You  forget  yourself, 
To  hedge  me  in :   I  am  a  soldier,  I, 
Older  in  practice,  abler  than  yourself 
To  make  conditions. 

Brutus.  Go  to ;  you  are  not,  Cassius. 
Cas.   I  am. 

Bru.  I  say  you  are  not ! 

Cas.   Urge  me  no  more,  I  shall  forget  myself; 
Have  mind  upon  your  health,  tempt  me  no  further! 

Bru.  You  say  you  are  a  better  soldier : 
Let  it  appear  so ;  make  your  vaunting  true. 
And  it  shall  please  me  well.     For  mine  own  part, 
I  shall  be  glad  to  learn  of  noble  men. 

Cas.  You  wrong  me  every  way ;   you  wrong  me,  Brutus  : 
I  said  an  elder  soldier,  not  a  better. 
Did  I  say  better? 

Bru.  If  you  did,  I  care  not ! 

Cas.    When  Caesar  lived,  he  durst  not  thus  have  moved  me. 
Bru.  Peace,  peace !  you  durst  not  so  have  tempted  him. 
Cas.    I  durst  not  ? 
Bru.  No. 

Cas.   What !  durst  not  tempt  him  ? 
Bru.  For  your  life,  you  durst  not! 
Cas.   Do  not  presume  too  much  upon  my  love ; 
I  may  do  that  I  shall  be  sorry  for. 


106  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

KEVENGE CIKCUMELEX. 

"  If  it  will  feed  nothing  else,  it  will  feed  my  revenge.  He  hath  disgraced 
me,  and  hindered  me  of  half  a  million;  laughed  at  my  losses,  mocked  at  my 
gains,  scorn'd  my  nation,  thwarted  my  bargains,  cooled  my  friends,  heated 
mine  enemies.  And  what's  his  reason?  1  am  a  Jew.  Hath  not  a  Jew  eyes'? 
hath  not  a  Jew  hands,  organs,  dimensions,  senses,  affections,  passions?  Is  he 
not  fed  with  the  same  food ;  hurt  with  the  same  weapons ;  subject  to  the  same 
diseases;  heal'd  by  the  same  means;  warm'd  and  cool'd  by  the  same  summer 
and  winter,  as  a  Christian  is?  If  you  stab  us,  do  we  not  bleed?  If  you  tickle 
us,  do  we  not  laugh  ?  If  you  poison  us,  do  we  not  die  ?  And  if  you  icrong  us, 
shall  we  not  revenge  ?  If  we  are  like  you  in  the  rest,  we  will  resemble  you  in 
that.  If  a  Jew  wrong  a  Christian,  what  is  his  humility  ?  Revenge.  If  a  Chris- 
tian wrong  a  Jew,  what  should  his  sufferance  be  by  Christian  example  ?  Why, 
REVENGE.  The  villainy  you  teach  me,  /will  execute;  and  it  shall  go  hard  but 
I  will  better  the  instruction." 

HORROR. 

Macbeth.   I  drink  to  the  general  joy  of  the  whole  table, 
And  to  our  dear  friend  Banquo,  whom  we  miss ; 
Would  he  were  here !  to  all,  and  him,  we  thirst, 
And  all  to  all. 

Lords.  Our  duties  and  the  pledge. 

Macb.  Avaunt !  and  quit  my  sight !     Let  the  earth  hide  thee ! 
Thy  bones  are  marrowless,  thy  blood  is  cold 
Thou  hast  no  speculation  in  those  eyes 
Which  thou  dost  glare  with. 

Lady  Macbeth.  Think  of  this,  good  peers, 

But  as  a  thing  of  custom :  't  is  no  other ; 
Only  it  spoils  the  pleasure  of  the  time. 

Macb.  What  man  dare,  I  dare : 
Approach  thou  like  the  rugged  Russian  bear, 
The  arm'd  rhinoceros,  or  the  Hyrcan  tiger; 
Take  any  shape  but  that,  and  my  firm  nerves 
Shall  never  tremble :  or  be  alive  again. 
And  dare  me  to  the  desert  with  thy  sword ; 
If  trembling  I  inhabit  then,  protest  me 
The  baby  of  a  girl.     Hence,  horrible  shadow  \ 
Unreal  mockery,  hence !     Why,  so,  being  gone, 
I  am  a  man  again.     Pray  you,  sit  still. 


"  Ay,  go  thy  way,  thou  painted  thing, 
Puppet,  which  mortals  call  a  king, 
Adorning  thee  with  idle  gems, 
With  drapery  and  diadems, 
And  scarcely  guessing  that  beneath 
That  purple  robe  and  laurel  wreath 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  IQJ 

There 's  nothing  but  the  common  slime 
Of  human  clay  and  human  crime  I 
My  rags  are  not  so  rich,  but  they 
Will  serve  as  well  to  cloak — decay. 

•'  And  night  will  come ;  and  thou  wilt  lie 
Beneath  a  purple  canopy ; 
With  lutes  to  lull  ihee,  flowers  to  shed 
Their  iavQVish.  fragrance  round  thy  bed; 
A  princess  to  unclasp  thy  crest, 
A  Spartan  spear  to  guard  thy  rest. 
Dream, — happy  one !  thy  dreams  will  be 
Of  danger  and  of — perfidy ; — 
The  Persian  lance, — the  Carian  club ! — 
I  shall  sleep  sounder  in  my  tub  ! 

DISGUST   AND   CONTEMPT. 

Ham,let.  O  God !  your  only  jig-xnakcv.  What  should  a  man  do  but  be — 
merry  ?  for,  look  you,  how  cheerfully  my  mother  looks,  and  my  father  died 
within  these  two  hours. 

Ophelia.   Nay,  't  is  twice  two  months,  my  lord. 

Ham.  So  long?  Nay,  then,  let  the  devil  wear  black,  for  I'll  have  a  suit  of 
sables.  O  heavens !  die  two  months  ago  and  not  forgotten  yet !  Then  there  s 
hope  a  great  man's  m,emory  may  outlive  his  life  half  &  year ;  but,  by'r  lady, 
ho  must  build  churches  then,  or  else  shall  he  suffer  not  thinking  on,  with  the 
hobby-horse,  whose  epitaph  is,  "For  0/  for  0/  the  hobby-horse  \s forgot!" 

ALARM    AND    GRIEF. 

Macduff.     Approach  the  chamber,  and  destroy  your  sight 
With  a  new  Gorgon.     Do  not  bid  me  speak : 
See,  and  then  speak  yourselves.     Aivake  !  aicakel 
Eing  the  alarum-bell.     Murder  and  treason ! 
Banquo  and  Donalbain  !  Malcolm  !  awake ! 
Shake  off  this  downy  sleep,  death's  counterfeit, 
And  look  on  death  itself! — up,  up,  and  see 
The  great  doom's  image !     Malcolm  !  Banquo ! 
As  from  your  graves  rise  up,  and  walk  like  sprites 
To  countenance  this  horror !     Ring  the  bell. 

Lady  Macbeth.     What 's  the  business, 
That  such  a  hideous  trumpet  calls  to  parley 
The  sleepers  of  the  house  ?  speak,  speak ! 

Macd.  O  gentle  lady ! 

'T  is  not  for  you  to  hear  what  I  can  speak : 
The  repetition,  in  a  woman's  ear. 
Would  murder  as  it  fell. — O  Banquo  !  Banquo ! 
Our  royal  master 's  murder'd  I 


108 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 


CONTEMPT. 

Polonius.    What  do  you  read,  ray  lord  ? 

Hamlet.     Words,  words, — words. 

Pol.  "What  is  the  matter,  my  lord? 

Ham.   Between  whom  ? 

Pol.   I  mean  the  matter  that  you  read,  my  lord. 

Ha?n.  Slanders,  sir:  for  the  satirical  rogue  says  here  that  old  men  have 
gray  beards;  that  their /aces  are  wrinkled;  their  eyes  purging  thick  amber  and 
plum-tree  gum ;  and  that  they  have  a  plentiful  lack  of  wit,  together  with  most 
weak  hams:  all  which,  sir,  though  I  most  powerfully  and  potently  believe, 
yet  I  hold  it  not  honesty  to  have  it  thus  set  down ;  for  you  yourself,  sir,  should 
be  old  as  I  am, — if,  like  a  crab,  you  could  go  backward. 


Julia.  Why !  do  you  think  I  '11  work  ? 

Duke.  I  think  't  will  happen,  wife. 

Julia.  What !   7'ub  and  scrub  your  noble  palace  clean  ? 

Duke.  Those  taper  fingers  will  do  it  daintily. 

Julia.  And  dress  your  victuals  (if  there  be  any)  ?     Oh !  I  shall  go  mad. 

[TOBIN. 
KEMORSE   AND   HUMILIATION.  •- 

King.     Oh  !  my  offense  is  rank, — it  smells  to  heaven ; 
It  hath  the  primal  eldest  curse  upon 't, — 
A  brother^ s  murder  I    Pray  can  I  not, 
Though  inclination  be  as  sharp  as  will : 
My  stronger — guilt  defeats  my  strong  intent ; 
And,  like  a  man  to  double  business  bound, 
I  stand  in  pause  where  I  &h&\\  first  begin. 
And  both  neglect.     What  if  this  cursed  hand 
Were  thicker  than  itself  with  brother's — blood, 
Is  there  not  rain  enough  in  the  sweet  heavens 
To  wash  it  white — as  snow  ?    AVhereto  serves  mercy 
But  to  confront  the  visage  of  offense? 
And  what 's  in  prayer,  but  this  two-fold  force, — 
To  be  forestalled,  ere  we  come  to  fall, 
Ov pardon' d,  being  down?     Then,  I'll  look  up: 
My  fault  is  past.     But,  oh  !  what /or-m  of  prayer 
Can  serve  my  turn?     Forgive  me  mj  foid — murder/ 
That  ca7i  not  be ;  since  I  am  still  possess'd 
Of  those  effects  for  which  I  did  the  murder, — 
My  crown,  mine  own  ambition,  and  my  queen. 
May  one  be  pardon! d  and  retain  th'  offense  ? 
In  the  corrupted  currents  of  this  world 
Offense's  gilded  hand  may  shove  by  jastice ; 
And  oft  'tis  seen,  the  wicked  prize  itself 
Buys  out  the  laiv ;  but  't  is  not  so — above ; 
There  is  no  shiiffling, — there  the  action  lies 
In  his  true  nature ;  and  we  ourselves  compell'd, 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  109 

Even  to  the  teeth  and  forehead  of  our  faults, 

To  give  in  evidence.     What  then  ?  what  rests  ? 

Try  what  repentance  can :  what  can  it  not  ? 

Yet  what  can  it,  when  one  can  not  repent  ? 

O  ivretched  state !  O  bosom,  black  as  death ! 

O  limed  soul,  that,  struggling — to  be/ree, 

Art  more  engaged  I     Help, — angels !  make  assay : 

Bow,  stubborn  knees ;  and,  heart,  with  strings  of  steel. 

Be  soft  as  sineivs  of  the  new-born  babel 

All  may  be  well. 

CONTRITION    AND   DOUBT. 

Hamlet.    Ay,  so,  God  be  wi'  you !     Now  I  am  alone. 
Oh,  what  a  rogue  and  peasant  slave  am  1 1 
Is  it  not  monstrous  that  this  player  here, 
But  in  a  fiction,  in  a  dream  of  passion. 
Could  force  his  soul  so  to  his  own  conceit. 
That,  from  her  working,  all  his  visage  wann'd; 
Tears  in  his  eyes,  distraction  in  his  aspect, 
A  broken  voice,  and  his  whole  function  suiting 
With  forms  to  his  conceit  ?   and  all  for  nothing ! 
For  Hecuba ! 

What 's  Hecuba — to  him,  or  he — to  Hecuba, 
That  he  should  lueep  for  her  ?     What  would  he  do 
Had  he  the  motive  and  the  cue  for  passion 
That  I  have  ?     He  would  drown  the  stage  with  tears, 
And  cleave  the  general  ear  with  horrid  speech. 
Make  mad  the  guilty,  and  appall  the  free. 
Confound  the  ignorant ;  and  amaze,  indeed, 
The  very  faculties  of  eyes  and  ears.     Yet  I, — 
A  dull  and  muddy-mettled  rascal,  peak. 
And  can  say  nothing :  no,  not  for  a  king, 
Upon  whose  property,  and  most  dear  life, 
A  damn'd  defeat  was  made. — Am  I  a  coward? 
Who  calls  me  villain  ?  breaks  my  pate  across  ? 
Plucks  off  my  beard,  and  blows  it  in  my  face  ? 
Tweaks  me  by  the  nose  ?   gives  me  the  lie  i'  the  throat 
As  deep  as  to  the  lungs  ?     Who  does  me  this  ?     Ha ! 
Why,  I  should  take  it ;  for  it  can  not  be, 
But  I  am  pigeon-liver'd,  and  lack  gall 
To  make  oppression  bitter,  or  ere  this 
I  should  have  fatted  all  the  region  kites 
With  this  slave's  offal :  bloody,  bawdy  villain ! 
Eemorseless,  treacherous,  cruel,  kindless  villain ! 
Oh,  vengeance ! 

Why,  what  an  ass  am  I !     This  is  most  brave, 
That  I,  the  son  of  a  dear  father  murdered. 
Prompted  to  my  revenge  by  heaven  and  hell, 


110  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Must,  like  a  wench,  unpack  my  heart  with  words, 

And  fall  a  cursing,  like  a  very  drab, 

A  scullion  ! 

Fie  upon  't !  foh  !     About,  my  brain  ! — I  have  heard 

That  guilty  creatures,  sitting  at  a  play, 

Have  by  the  very  cunning  of  the  scene 

Been  struck  so  to  the  soul,  that  presently 

They  have  proclaimed  their  malefactions ; — 

For  murder,  though  it  have  no  tongue,  will  speak 

"With  most  miraculous  organ.     I  '11  have  these  players 

Play  something  like  the  murder  of  my  father 

Before  mine  uncle :  I  '11  observe  his  looks ; 

I  '11  tent  him  to  the  quick :  if  he  but  blench, 

I  know  my  course.     The  spirit  that  I  have  seen 

May  be  the  devil :  and  the  devil  hath  power 

T'  assume  a  pleasing  shape ;  yea,  and  perhaps 

Out  of  my  weakness,  and  my  melancholy 

(As  he  is  very  potent  with  such  spirits). 

Abuses  me  to  damn  me.     I  '11  have  grounds 

More  relative  than  this :  the  play 's  the  thing 

Wherein  I  '11  catch  the  conscience  of  the  king. 

PLOTTING   CRUELTY   AND   HORROR. 

Macbeth.  Is  this  a  dagger  which  T  see  before  me. 
The  handle  toward  my  hand?     Come,  let  me  clutch  thee ; 
I  have  thee  not,  and  yet  I  see  thee  still. 
Art  thou  not,  fatal  vision,  sensible 
1o feeling — as  to  sight?  or  art  thou  but 
A  dagger  of  the  mind,  &  false  creation, 
Proceeding  from  the  Aea^-oppressed  brain? 
I  see  thee  yet,  in  form  as  palpable 
As  that  which  now  I  draw. 
Thou  marshal st  me  the  way  that  I  was  going; 
And  such  an  instrument  I  was  to  use. 
Mine  eyes  are  made  the /oois  of  the  other  senses, 
Or  else  worth  all  the  rest :  I  see  thee  still  ; 
And  on  thy  blade  and  dudgeon  gouts  of  blood, 
Which  was  not  so  before.     There 's  no  such  thing : 
It  is  the  bloody  business  which  informs 
Thus  to  mine  eyes.     Now,  o'er  one  half  the  world 
Nature  seems  dead,  and  wicked  dreams  abuse 
The  curtain'd  sleep ;  now  witchcraft — celebrates 
Pale  Hecate's  offerings ;  and  withered  murder. 
Alarmed  by  his  sentinel,  the  wolf. 
Whose  howl 's  his  watch,  thus  with  his  stealthy  ^^ace. 
With  Tarquin's  ravishing  strides  toward  his  design — 
Moves  like  a  ghost.     Thou  sure  and  firm-set  earth, 
Hear  not  my  steps,  which  way  they  walk,  for  fear 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  m 

Thy  very  stones  prate  of  my  whereabout, 

And  take  the  present  horror  from  the  time, 

Which  now  suits  with  it.     "Whiles  I  threat,  he  lives : — 

"Words  to  the  heat  of  deeds  too  cold  breath  gives. 

I  go,  and  it  is  done ;  the  bell  invites  me. 

Hear  it  not,  Duncan;  for  it  is  a  knell. 

That  summons  thee  to  heaven  or  to  hell. 


"  Ah !  mercy  on  my  soul.  What  is  that  ?  My  old  friend's  ghost?  They  say 
none  but  wicked  folks  walk ;  I  wish  I  were  at  the  bottom  of  a  coal-pit.  See ! 
how  lojig  and  pale  his  face  has  grown  since  his  death:  he  never  was  handsome; 
and  death  has  improved  him  very  much  the  wrong  way.  Pray  do  not  come 
near  me!  I  wisKd  you  very  well  when  you  were  alive;  but  I  could  never 
abide  a  dead  man,  cheek  by  jowl  with  me.  Ah,  ah,  mercy  on  us  1  No  nearer, 
pray ;  if  it  be  only  to  take  leave  of  me  that  you  are  come  back,  I  could  have 
excused  you  the  ceremony  with  all  my  heart ;  or  if  you — mercy  on  us !  no 
nearer,  pray; — or  if  you  have  wronged  any  body,  as  you  alioays  loved  money  a 
little,  I  give  you  the  word  of  a  frightened  Christia7i,  I  will  pray  as  long  as 
you  please  for  the  deliverance  or  repose  of  your  departed  soul.  My  good,  worthy, 
noble  friend,  do,  pray  disappear,  as  ever  you  would  wish  your  old  friend  to  come 
to  his  senses  again." 

SORKOW   AND   GRIEF. 

"  I  love  it !  I  love  it !  and  who  shall  dare 
To  chide  me  for  loving  that  old  arm-chair? 
I  've  treasured  it  long  as  a  sainted  prize, 
I've  bedewed  it  with  tears  and  embalmed  it  with  sighs; 
'T  is  bound  by  a  thousand  bands  to  my  heart, 
Not  a  tie  will  break,  not  a  link  will  start ; 
Would  you  know  the  spell  ?  a  mother  sat  there  I 
And  a  sacred  thing  is  that  old  arm-chair. 

In  childhood's  hour  I  lingered  near 

That  hallowed  seat  with  a  listening  ear 

To  the  gentle  words  that  mother  would  give 

To  fit  me  to  die  and  teach  me  to  live ; 

She  told  me  shame  would  never  betide 

With  truth  for  my  creed  and  God  for  my  guide ; 

She  taught  me  to  lisp  my  earliest  prayer 

As  I  knelt  beside  that  old  arm-chair. 

I  sat  and  watched  her  many  a  day 

When  her  eye  grew  dim  and  her  locks  were  gray, 

And  I  almost  worshiped  her  when  she  smiled 

And  turned  from  her  Bible  to  bless  her  child : 

Years  rolled  on,  but  the  last  one  sped. 

My  idol  was  shattered,  my  earth-star  fled ! 

I  felt  how  much  the  heart  can  bear 

When  I  saw  her  die  in  that  old  arm-chair. 


112  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

T  is  past !  't  is  past !  but  I  gaze  on  it  now 
With  quivering  lip  and  throbbing  brow; 
'T  was  there  she  nursed  me,  'twas  there  she  died, 
And  memory  still  flows  with  lava-tide. 
Say  it  is  folly,  and  deem  me  weak, 
As  the  scalding  drops  start  down  my  cheek; 
But  I  love  it !  I  love  it !  and  can  not  tear 
My  soul  from  my  mother's  old  arm-chair  1 "  [Eliza  Cook. 

"  Three  years  ago  to-day 

We  raised  our  hands  to  heaven, 
And  on  the  rolls  of  muster 

Our  names  were  thirty-seven ; 
There  were  just  a  thousand  bayonets, 

And  the  swords  were  thirty-seven, 
As  we  took  the  oath  of  service 

With  our  right  hands  raised  to  heaven. 

Oh !  't  was  a  gallant  day, 

In  memory  still  adored, 
That  day  of  our  sun-bright  nuptials 

With  the  musket  and  the  sword ! 
Shrill  rang  the  fifes,  the  bugles  blared, 

And  beneath  a  cloudless  heaven 
Twinkled  a  thousand  bayonets. 

And  the  swords  were  thirty-seven. 

Of  the  thousand  stalwart  bayonets 

Two  hundred  march  to-day; 
Hundreds  lie  in  Virginia  swamps. 

And  hundreds  in  Maryland  clay ; 
And  other  hundreds,  less  happy,  drag 

Their  shattered  limbs  around. 
And  envj'  the  deep,  long,  blessed  sleep 

Of  the  battle-field's  holy  ground. 

For  the  swords — one  night,  a  week  ago. 

The  remnant,  just  eleven. 
Gathered  around  a  banqueting-board 

With  seats  for  thirty-seven ; 
There  were  two  limped  in  on  crutches, 

And  two  had  each  but  a  hand 
To  pour  the  wine  and  raise  the  cup, 

As  we  toasted  '  Our  flag  and  landl' 

And  the  room  seemed  filled  with  whispers 

As  we  looked  at  the  vacant  seats. 
And,  with  choking  throats,  we  pushed  aside 

The  rich  but  untasted  meats ; 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  J 13 

Then  in  silence  we  brimmed  our  glasses, 

As  we  rose  up — just  eleven, 
And  bowed  as  we  drank  to  the  loved  and  the  dead 

Who  had  made  us  thikty-seven." 

[Private  Miles  G'Reillt. 

OF    LOVE. 

"I  Md  thee — long — and  dearly, — Florence  Vane; 
My  life's  bright  dream, — and  early, — hath  come  again ; 
I  renew — (in  my  fond  vision) — my  heart's  dear  pain, — 
My  hope, — and  thy  derision, — Florence  Vane. 

Th'  ruin — (Zone — and  hoary), — th'  ruin  old, —       ..^ 
Where  thou — didst  mark  my  sto7'y  (at  eveti  told;) — 
That  STpot, — (th'  hues  Elysian — of  sky — anA  plain,) — 
I  treasure — (in  my  vision), — Florence  Vane. 

Thou — wast  lovelier — than  th'  roses — (in  their  jprime;) 
Thy  voice — excell'd  the  closes — of  sweetest  rhyme; 
Thy  heart — was  as  a  river — without  a  main; 
Would — I  had  loved  thee  never, — Florence  Vane! 

But— /aires^, — coldest  wonder!  thy  glorious  clay 

Lieth — the  green  sod  under; — alas!  th'  day! 

And  it  boots  not — t'  remember  thy  disdain — 

T'  quicken  love's  pale  ember, — Florence  Vane. 

Th'  lilies — of  th'  valley — by  joxxng  graves — weep; — 

Th'  pansies — love  t'  dally — where  maidens  sleep; 

May  their  bloom, — (in  beauty  vieing,)  never  wane — 

Where  thine  earthly  part — is  lying, — Florence  Vane." — [Cooke. 

BELIAL'S  SPEECH  AGAINST  THE  WAR  WITH  HEAVEN.    Milton. 

I  should  be  much  for  open  war,  O  peers ! 
As  not  behind  in  hate,  if  what  was  urged, 
(Main  reason  to  persuade  immediate  war,) 
Did  not  dissuade  me  Inost,  and  seem  to  cast 
Ominous  conjecture  on  the  whole  success: 
When  he,  (who  most  excels  in  fact  of  arms, 
In  what  he  counsels  and  in  what  excels 
Mistrustful,)  grounds  his  courage  on  despair. — 
And  utter  dissolutioti,  as  the  scope 
Of  all  his  aim, — after  some  dire — revenge. 
First,  lohat — revenge  ?     The  towers  of  Heaven  are  filled 
With  armed  watch,  that  render  all — access — 
hnpregnable :  oft  on  the  bordering  deep 
Encamp — their  legions,  or  with  obscure  wing 
Scout  far  and  wide  into  the  realm  of  night, 
ScoT7iing  surprise  I    Or  could  we  break  our  way 
Bj'  force,  and  at  our  heels  all  hell  should  rise 
With  blackest  insurrection,  to  confound 
Heaven's  purest  light;  yet  our  great  Enemy, — 
All  incorruptible,  would  on  his  throne 

8 


114  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTIOlir. 

Sit  unpolluted, — and  the  ethereal  mold, — 
Incapable  of  stain, — would  soon  expel 
Her  mischief,  and  purge  off  the  baser  fire, 
Victorious.     Thus  repulsed,  our  final  hope — 
Is  flat  despair :  we  must  exasperate 
The  Almighty  Victor  to  spend  all  his  rage, — 
And  that  must  end  us :   that  must  be  our  cure, — 
To  be — no  more.     Sad  cure !  for  who  would  lose, — 
(Though  full  of  pain,) — this  intellectual  being, — 
Those  thoughts  that  wander  through  eternity, — 
To  perish  rather, — swallowed  up  and  lost 
In  the  wide  womb  of  uncreated  night. 
Devoid  of  sense  and  motion  ?  and  who — knows, — 
Let  this  be  good, — whether  our  angry  Foe 
Can  give  it,  or  will  ever  ?  how  he  can. 
Is  doubtful !  that  he  never  will, — is  sure. 
Will  he,  so  wise,  let  loose  at  once  his  ire, 
Belike  through  iynpotence,  or  unaware. 
To  give  his  enemies  their  wish,  and  end 
Them  in  his  anger,  whom — his  anger  saves 
To  punish  endless? — Wherefore  cease  we  then? 
Say  they  who  counsel  war;  we  are  decreed, 
Reserved,  and  destined  to  eternal  woe; 
Whatever  doing,  what  can  we  suffer  more, 
What  can  we  suffer  worse  ?     Is  this  then  worst, 
Thus  sitting,  thus  consulting,  thus  in  arms  ? 
What  I  when  we  fled  amain,  pursued  and  struck 
With  Heaven's  afflicting  thunder,  and  besought 
The  deep  to  shelter  us  ?  this  hell  then  seemed 
A  refuge  from  those  wounds :  or  when  we  lay 
Chained — on  the  burning  lake?  that  sure  was  worse. 
What  if  the  breath  that  kindled  those  grim  fires. 
Awaked,  should  blow  them  into  sevenjold  rage, 
AnA.  ])hinge  us — in  the  flames?  or — from  above 
Should  intermitted  vengeance  arm  again 
His  red — right  hand  to  plague  us?  what  if  all 
Her  stores  were  opened,  and  this  firmament 
Of  hell  should  spout  her  cataracts  of  fire, — 
Impendent  horrors,  threatening — hideous — fall — 
One  day  upon  our  heads  ?  while  we,  perhaps 
Designing — or  exhorting  glorious  war. 
Caught  in  a  fiery  tempest,  shall  be  hurled. 
Each  on  his  rock — transfixed,  the  sport  and  prey 
Oi racking  whirlwinds; — or  forever  sunk 
Under  yon  boiling  ocean,  wrapp'd  in  chains; 
There  to  converse  with  everlasting  groans, 
Unrespited, — unpitied, — unreprieved, — 
Ages  of  hopeless  end?     This  would  be  worse. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  II5 

SHIP  ON  FIRE. 

The  storm  o'er  the  ocean  flew  furious  and  fast, 

And  the  waves  rose  in  foam  at  the  voice  of  the  blast, 

And  heavily  labor'd  the  gale-beaten  ship, 

Like  a  stout-hearted  swimmer — the  spray  at  his  lip ; 

And  dark  was  the  sky  o'er  the  mariner's  path, 

Except  when  the  lightning  illumed  it  in  wrath. 

A  young  mother  knelt  in  the  cabin  below. 

And  pressing  her  babe  to  her  bosom  of  snow. 

She  prayed  to  her  God  'mid  the  hurricane  wild, 

"  O  Father !  have  mercy,  look  down  on  my  child." 

It  pass'd — the  fierce  whirlwind  careered  on  its  way, 

And  the  ship,  like  an  arrow,  divided  the  spray; 

Her  sails  glimmer'd  white  in  the  beams  of  the  moon. 

And  the  breeze  up  aloft  seem'd  to  whistle,  to  whistle  a  tune; 

And  the  wind  up  aloft  seem'd  to  whistle,  to  whistle  a  tune. 

There  was  joy  in  the  ship  as  she  furrowed  the  foam, 

For  fond  hearts  within  her  were  dreaming  of  home; 

The  young  mother  press'd  her  fond  babe  to  her  breast, 

And  sang  a  sweet  song  as  she  rocked  it  to  rest ; 

And  the  husband  sat  cheerily  down  by  her  side, 

And  looked  with  delight  on  the  face  of  his  bride. 

"Oh,  happy,"  said  he,  "when  our  roaming  is  o'er, 

We  '11  dwell  in  our  cottage  that  stands  by  the  shore  ; 

Already  in  fancy  its  roof  I  descry. 

And  the  smoke  of  its  hearth  curling  up  to  the  sky 

Its  garden  so  green  and  vine-covered  wall. 

The  kind  friends  awaiting  to  welcome  us  all. 

And  the  children  that  sport  by  the  old  oaken  tree." 

Ah,  gently  the  ship  glided  over  the  sea. 
Hark !  what  was  that  ?     Hark,  hark  to  the  shout ! — 
Fire !  then  a  tramp  and  a  rout. 
And  an  uproar  of  voices  arose  in  the  air; 
And  the  mother  knelt  down,  and  the  half-spoken  prayer 
That  she  oflFered  to  God  in  her  agony  wild 

Was,  "  Father,  have  mercy,  look  down,  look  down  on  my  child !" 
She  flew  to  her  husband,  she  clung  to  his  side. 
Oh  !  there  was  her  refuge  w^hate'er  might  betide. 

Fire!  fire  I  it  was  raging  above  and  below; 
And  the  cheeks  of  the  sailors  grew  pale  at  the  sight, 
And  their  eyes  glistened  wild  in  the  glare  of  the  light. 
'T  was  vain  o'er  the  ravage  the  waters  to  drip, 
The  pitiless  flame  was  the  lord  of  the  ship ; 
And  the  smoke  in  thick  wreaths  mounted  higher  and  higher — 
O  God !  it  is  fearful  to  perish  by  fire. 
Alone  with  destruction,  alone  on  the  sea. 
Great  Father  of  mercy,  our  hope  is  in  thee  1 


Ug  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Sad  at  heart  and  resigned,  yet  undaunted  and  brave, 

They  lowered  the  boat,  a  mere  speck  on  the  wave ; 

First  entered  the  mother,  enfolding  her  child, 

It  knew  she  caressed  it,  look'd  upward  and  smiled. 

Cold,  cold  was  the  night  as  they  drifted  away. 

And  mistily  dawned  o'er  the  pathway  the  day ; 

And  they  prayed  for  the  light,  and  at  noontide  about 

The  sun  o'er  the  waters  shone  joyously  out. 

"Ho !  a  sail !    Ho !  a  sail !  "  cried  the  man  on  the  lee; 

"Ho!  a  sail!  "  and  they  turned  their  glad  eyes  o'er  the  sea. 

They  see  us,  they  see  us,  the  signal  is  waved ; 

They  bear  down  upon  us,  they  bear  down  upon  us, 

They  bear  down  upon  us,  the  signal  is  waved. 

Thank  God !  thank  God !  we  're  saved. 

MOTHER  AND  POET.— Mrs.  Browning. 
Turin,  after  news  from  Gaeta,  1861. 
Dead !  one  of  them — shot — by  the  sea — in  the  east, 

And  one  of  them — shot — in  the  west  by  the  sea. 
Dead !  both — my  boys  I     When  you  sit — at  the  feast — 
And  are  wanting — a  great  song — for  Italy — -free  ! 
Let  none — look  at  me  ! 

Yet — I  was  &  poetess — only — last  year, 

And  good — at  my  art,  (for  a  woman, — men  said.) 
But  this  woman, — this, — who  is  agonized  here. 

The  east  sea — and  west  sea — rhyme  on — in  her  head — 
For  ever — instead. 
What  art — can  a  woman — be  good  at?     Oh,  vain  ! 

What  art — is  she  good  at,  but — hurting  her  breast 
With  the  mi^^-teeth — of  babes,  and  a  smile — at  the  pain  9 

Ah,  boys,  how  you  hurt !  you  were  strong — as  you  pressed, — 
And  I^-proud, — by  that  test. 
What  art 's — for  a  woman  ?     To  hold  on  her  knees 

Both  darlings !  to  feel  all  their  arms — round  her  throat 
Cling, — strangle — a  little  !    To  sew  by  degrees. 

And  'broider — the  long-clothes — and  neat  little  coat  I 
To  dream — and — to  dote. 
To  teach  them  ...  It  stings — there !     I  made  them  indeed 

Speak  plain — the  word — country.     I  taught  them  (no  doubt) 
That  a  country  's — a  thing — men — should  die — for — at  need. 

I — prated  of  liberty,  rights,  and  about 
The  tyrant — turned  out. 

And  when  their  eyes — flashed  ....       O  my  beautiful  eyes ! 

I — exulted !  nay,  let  them  go  forth — at  the  ivheels 
Of  the  guns, — and  denied  not.     But — (then) — the  surprise, 

When  one  sits  quite  alone  I     Then — one  weeps,  then — one  kneels  I 
(^God!  how  the  house  feels!) 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  H'j 

Aijirst — happy  news  came, — in  gay  letters, — moiled — 
With  my  kisses, — of  camp-\\fe — and  gloi-yl  and  how 

They  both  loved  me,  and — soon, — coming  home — to  be  spoiled, 
In  return — would  fan  off  every ^3/ — from  my  brow 
With  their  green — laurel  bough. 

Then — was  triumph — at  Turin :  "  Ancona — was  free !  " 
And  some  one — came  out  of  the  cheers — (in  the  street, — 

With  &face — pale — as  stone), — to  say  something  to  me. 
My  Guido — was  dead!    I  fell  down — at  his  feet, 
While  they — cheer' d — in  the  street. 

I  bore  it;  friends — sooth' d  me:  my  grief — look'd  sublime — 
As  the  ransom, — of  Italy  !     One  boy — remained — 

To  be  leant  on — and  xvalked  with, — recalling  the  time — 

When  the  first — grew  immortal, — while  both  of  us — strained 
To  the  height — he  had  gained. 

And  letters — still  came, — shorter, — sadder, — more  strong, — 
Writ — (now)  but  in  one  hand.     ("/  was  not  to  faint  I 

One — loved  me — for  two  ....  would  be  with  me — ere  long  : 
And — 'Viva — V Italia!' — he  died  for  our  saint, 
Who  forbids — our  complaint.") 

My  Nanni — would  add — "  He  was  safe, — and  aware — 

Of  &  presence — th't  turned  off  the  balls  ....  was  imprest — 

It  was  Guido — himself,  who  knew — what  I  could  bear, 
And — how — 't  was  impossible, — (quite  dispossessed,) — 
To  live  on — for  the  rest." 

On  which — (without  pause)  up  the  telegraph-line 

Swept  smoothly — the  next  news — from  Gaeta — "Shot/ 

Tell  his  mo^/ter."     Ah,  ah!  "his" — "their"  vaother: — not — "mine." 
No  voice — says  "-my  mother" — again  to  me.     What  I 
You  think  Guido — forgot  9 

Are  souls — straight — so  happy — th't, — dizzy — with  heaven, — 
They  drop — earth's  affections, — conceive  not — of  woe  ? 

I  think  not.     Themselves — were  too  lately — forgiven — 
Through  that  Love — and  Sorrow — which  reconciled  so — 
The  Above, — and  Below. 

O  Christ — of  the  seven  wounds, — who  look'dst — (through  the  dark) — 

To  the  face — of  thy  mother !  consider,  I  pray, — 
How  we — common  mothers — stand  desolate,  mark, — 

Whose  sons, — (not  being  Christs,)  die — with  eyes — turned  aicay — 
And  no — last — word — to  say ! 

Bothhoys — dead!  but  that's — out  of  nature.     We  all 

Have  been  patriots, — yet — each  house — must  always — keep  on^, 

'T  were  imbecile — hewing  out  roads — ^to  a  wall. 

And,  when  Italy  's — tnade, — for  what  end — is  it  done — 
If  we — have  not  a  son  f 


118  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Ah,  ah,  ah !  when  Gaeia  's  taken, — what  then  ? 

When  the  fail' — wicked  queen — sits  no  Tuore — at  her  sport — 
Of  the_;?re-balls — of  death — crashing  souls — out  of  men? 

When  the  guns — of  Cavalli — (with  final  retort) — 
Have  cut  the  game  short; 

When  Venice — and  Rome — keep  their  new  jubilee, — 

When  your  flag — takes  all  heaven — for  its  white, — green, — and  red, 

When  you — have  your  country — from  mountain — to  sea, — 
When  King  Victor — has  Italy's  crown — on  his  head, 
(And  I-^have — my  dead !) — 

What  theji  ?     Do  not  mock  me.     (Ah, — ring  your  bells — low. 
And  burn  your  lights^aintly.)     My  country — is  there, 

Above  the  star — pricked — by  the  last  peak  of  snow. 
My  Italy  's — there  !  with  my  brave — civic  Pair, 
To  disfranchise — desjiair  I 

Forgive  me.     Some  women — bear  children — in  strength. 
And  bite  back — the  cry — of  their  pain — in  seZ/-scorn ; 

But — the  birth-T^&ngs — of  nations — will  wring  us  (at  length) — 
Into  wail — such  as  this ! — and  we  sit  on — (forlorn) — 
When  the  man-child — is  born. 

THE  RUM  MANIAC.    Allison. 

Say, — (Doctor,)  may  I  not  have  rum 

To  quench — this  burning  thirst — within? 
Here, — on  this  cursed  bed  I  lie. 

And  can  not  get  one  drop  of  gin. 
I  ask  not  health, — nor  even  life: — 

Life!  what  a  curse — it's  been  to  me! 
I  'd  rather  sink — in  deepest  hell 

Than  drink — again — its  misery. 

But,  (Doctor,)  m,ay  I  not  have  rum? 

One  drop — alone  is  all  I  crave: 
Grant — this  small  boon ; — I  ask  no  more. 

Then — I  '11  defy — even  the  grave: 
Then,  (without  fear,)  I'll  fold  my  arms, 

And  bid  the  monster — strike  his  dart 
To  haste  me — from  this  world  of  v)oe. 

And  claim  his  own, — this  ruined  heart! 

A  thousand  curses — on  his  head 

Who  gave  me  first — the  poison'd  bowl, — 
Who  taught  me  first — this  bane — to  drink ; — ■ 

Drink — death — and  rui7i — to  my  soul. 
My  soul!     Oh!  cruel, — Aorric?  thought! 

Full  %oell — I  know — thy  certain  fate;  / 

With  what  instinctive  horror — shrinks 

The  spirit — from  that  awful  state  I 


MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION.  II9 

Lost!  lost!  I  know — -forever  \osi\ 

To  vie — no  ray  of  hoj^e — can  come: 
My  fate — is  sealed;  my  doom  is . 

But  give  me — ru7n;  I  will  have  rum. 
But,  (Doctor,)  don't  you  see  him — there? 

In  that  dark  coriier — low  he  sits ; 
See!  how  he  sports — his  fiery  tongue, — 

And  at  me — burning  brimstone  spits ! 

Say, — don't  you  see — this  demon  face? 
Does  no  one — hear?  will  no  one — cotnef 

Oh!  save  me!  save  me!     I  will  give — 
But  rum! — I  must  have, — will  have — rum. 

Ah !  now — he 's  go7ie !  once  mo7'e — I  'mfree  ! 
He — (the  boasting  knave — and  liar) — 

He  said — tb't  he  would  take  me  off- 
Down — to .     But  there!  my  head  's  on  fire! 

Fire!  tvater!  help!  come, — haste!  I'W  die! 

Come — take  me  from  this  burning  bed! 
The  smoke!     I'm  choking!  can  not  cry! 

There!  now  it's  catching — at  my  head! 
But  see!  again — that  demon  's  come! 

Look!  there — he  peeps  through  yonder  crack! 
Mark — how  his  burning  eyeballs  flash ! 

H.ovf fierce  he  grins!  what — brought  him  back? 
There, — stands  his  burning  coach  oi  fire! 

He  sm.iles, — and  beckons  me — to  come! 
What  are  those  words — he's  written  there? 

"In  hell we  never  tvant — for  rum!" 

One  loud — one  piercing  shriek — was  heard ; 

One  yell — rang  otit — upon  the  air; 
One  sound,  and  one — alone — came  forth, — 

The  victiTn's  cry — of  wild  despair. 

Why  longer  wait?     I  'm  ripe  for  hellt 

A  spirit 's  sent — to  bear  me  doicn; 
There, — in  the  regions — of  the  lost, 

I  sure — will  wear — a  fiery  croivnf 
Damn'd — (I  knov),)  without  a  hope! 

One  moment — tnore — and  then — I'll  comet 
And  there — I  '11  quench — my  awful  thirst — 

With  boiling!  burning!  fiery  rum! 

SOLILOQUY  OF  THE  DYING  ALCHEMIST.    N.  P.  Willis. 

The  night  wind — (with  a  desolate  moan) — swept  by; 
And  the  old  shutters — of  the  turret  swung 
Creaking — upon  their  hinges ;  and  the  moon, 
(As  the  torn  edges  of  the  clouds  flew  past,) 
Struggled  aslant — the  stained  and  broken  panes 
So  dimly,  that  the  watchful  eye  of  death 
Scarcely  was  conscious — when  it  went — and  caTne. 


120  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

The_^re — beneath  his  crucible — was  low: 
Yet  still — it  burned ;  and  ever,  (as  his  thoughts 
Grew  insupportable,)  he  raised  himself — 
Upon  his  wasted  arm  and  stirred  the  coals — 
"With  difficxxM  energy,  and  when  the  rod 
Fell  from  his  nerveless _^n^ers,  and  his  eye — 
Felt — faint — within  its  socket,  he  shrunk  back 
Upon  his  pallet,  and — (with  unclosed  lips) 
Muttered  a  curse — on  death! 

The  silent  room, 
(From  its  dim  corners)  mockingly  gave  back 
His  rattling  breath;  the  humming — in  the_/?re — 
Had  the  distinctness — of  a  knell;  and  when — 
Duly — the  antique  horologe — beat  one 
He  drew  a  vial — (from  beneath  his  head) 
And  drank.     And  instantly — his  lips  compressed, 
And  (with  a  shudder — in  his  skeleton /rame) 
He  rose — with  supernatural  strength,  and  sat 
Upright, — and  com.muned — with  himself: — 
I  did  not  think  to  die — 

Till  I  had  finished — what  I  had  to  do; 

I  thought — to  pierce  th'  eternal  secret  through — 
With  this — my  mortal  eye; 

Ifelt — 0  God!  it  seemeth — even  now 

This  can  not  be  the  death-dew — on  my  brow! 

And  yet — it  is ;  I  feel 
(Of  this  dull  sickness — at  my  heart)  afraid; 
And  in  my  eyes — the  rfea^A-sparks — flash — and/arfe; 

And  something — seems  to  steal 
Over  my  bosom — like  a  frozen  hand, — 
Binding  its  pulses — with  an  icy  band. 

And  this— is  death  !     Bnt  why — 
Feel  I  this  recoil  ?     It  can  not  be 
The  immortal  spirit — shudder  eih — to  he  free! 

Would  it  not  leap — to  fly 
Like  a  chain'd  eaglet — at  its  parent's  call? 
I  fear, — \fear — that  this  poor  life — is  all! 

Yet  thus — to  pass  away ! — 
To  live — but  for  a  hope — that  mocks — at  last, — 
To  agonize, — to  strive, — to  watch, — to  fast, 

To  waste — the  light  of  day. 
Night's  better  beauty, — feeling, — fancy, — thought. 
All — that  we  have — and  are, — for  this, — for  naught! 

Grant  me  another  year, 
God  of  my  spirit ! — but  a  day, — to  win 
Something — to  satisfy  this  thirst — within  ! 

I  would  know  something — here! 
Break  for  me — but  07ie  seal — that  is  imbroken  ! 
Speak  for  me — but  one  word — that  is  unspoken  I 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  12I 

Vain, — vain! — my  brain — is  turning 
With  a  swift  dizziness,  and  my  heart  grows  sick, 
And  these  hot  iemple-throhs — come  fast — and  thick, 

And  I  a,m  freezing, — burning, — 
Dying!     O  God  I  if  I  might  only  live! 
My  vial Ha !  it  thrills  me, — I  revive. 

Aye, — were  not  man  to  die, — 
He  were  too  mighty — for  this  narrow  sphere! 
Had  he  but  time — to  brood  on  knowledge — here, — 

Could  he  but  train  his  eye, — 
Might  he  but  wait — the  mystic  word — and  hour, — 
Only  his  Maker — would  transcend — YAspowerl 

Earth — has  no  mineral  strange, — 
Th'  illimitable  air — no  hidden  wings, — 
Water — no  qualify — in  covert  springs, 

And  fire — no  power — to  change, — 
Seasons— no  mystery, — and  stars — no  spell, 
Which  the  unwasting  soul — might  not  compel. 

Oh !   but  for  time — to  track 
The  upper  stars — into  the  pathless  sky, — 
To  see  th'  invisible  spirits,  eye — to  eye, — 

To  hurl  the  lightning  back, — 
To  tread — unhurt — the  sea'a  dim-lighted  halls, — 
To  chase  Day's  chariot — to  the  Aorizow-walls, — 

And  more, — much  more, — for  now — 
The  life-sea}ed  fountains — of  my  nature  move, — 
To  nurse — and  purify — this  human  love, — 

To  clear  the  godlike  brow 
Of  weakness — and  mistrust,  and  bow  it  down, — 
Wo7'thy — and  beautiful, — to  the  much-loved  one, — 

This — were — indeed — to  feel 
The  soM^-thirst — slaken — at  the  living  stream, — 
To  live, — O  God!  that  life — is  but  a  dream,! 

And  death Aha!  I  reel; — 

Dim, — dim, — 1  faint, — darkness  comes  o'er  my  eye; — 
Cover  me !  save  me ! God  of  heaven!  I  die  I 

'  T  was  morning, — and  the  old  man — lay  alone. 
"No  friend — had  closed  his  eyelids, — and  his  lips, 
{^Open — and  ashy  pale,)  th'  expression  wore 
Of  his  rfeai'A-struggle.     His  long  silvery  hair 
Lay  on  his  hollow  temples — thin — and  wild; 
TSas  frame — was  wasted, — and  \i\s  features — wan 
And  haggard — as  with  want ; — and  in  his  palm 
His  nails  were  driven — deep,  as  if  the  thi'oe 
Of  the  last  agony — had  wrung  him  sore. 


122  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

The  storm — was  raging  still.     The  shutter — swung 
Creaking  as  harshly — in  the  fitful  wind, 
And  all  without — went  on, — as  aye  it  will, 
Sunshine — or  tempest, — reckless — that  a  heart 
Is  breaking, — or  has  broken,  in  its  change. 

The^re — beneath  the  crucible — was  out: 
The  vessels  of  his  mystic  art — lay  around, 
Useless — and  cold  as  the  ambitious  hand 
Th&t  fashioned  them,  and  the  small  rod, 
(Familiar  to  his  touch — for  three-score  years,) 
Lay  on  th'  alembic's  rim,  as  if  it  still 
Might  vex  the  elements — at  its  master's  will. 

And  thus — had  passed — from  its  unequal  frame — 
A  soul  of  fire, — a  sun-bent  eagle — stricken 
From  his  high  soaring  down, — an  instrum,ent — 
Broken — with  its  own  compass.     Oh,  how  poor — 
Seems  the  rich  gift  of  genius  when  it  lies, 
(Like  the  adventurous  bird — that  hath  outflown 
His  strength — upon  the  sea,) — amhition-wveckedL, — 
A  thing — the  thrush  might  pity — as  she  sits — 
Brooding  in  quiet — on  her  lowly  nest  I 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Exercise  in  Eapid  and  Parenthetical  Movements  op  Voice — Echo — 
How  TO  GIVE  Imitations — Examples. 

Critical  attention  must  be  observed  in  articulating  the  words. 
After  we  have  thoroughly  conquered  our  indistinctness  of  articu- 
lation, we  must  acquire  the  facility  of  rapid  and  clearly  enunciated 
utterances.  There  are  many  passages  that  require  a  spirited,  brilliant, 
and  rapid  rendering,  else  their  intention  is  not  expressed. 

"Let  Stanley  charge — (with  spur  oi  fire — 
With  Chester  charge,  and  Lancashire), — 
Full  upon  Scotland's  central  host, — 
Or  victory  and  England 's  lost ! " 

"  Burned  Marmion's  swarthy  cheek — like  fire, — 
And  shook  his  very  frame  for  ire; 

And — 'This  to  me  I' — he  said; — 
'An'  'twere  not — for  thy  hoary  beard, — 
Such  hand — as  Marmion's — had  not  spared 

To  cleave  the  Douglas'  head! 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  123 

And,  first, — I  tell  thee, — haughty  peer, 
He  who  does  England's — mensage  here, 
(Although  the  meanest  in  her  state,) 
May  well, — -proud  Angus, — be  thy  mate; 
And,  Douglas, — mo7-e — I  tell  thee  here, 
High,  rapid.       (Even  in  thy  pitch  of  pride, — 

Here,  in  thy  hold, — thy  vassals  near,)  — 

thesirn^re'nTtid'!"'  ""*"■    (^'^y-  ^^'■''^^  ^0°^  "P'^"  >'""!•  ^Ord, 

And  lay  your  hand  upon  your  sword,)^ 

ReturniDg  to  pitch  or  first         t  i.    ii  iU  xi.         i    i    i    i>     i  i 

parenthesis.  1  tell  thee, — thou  rt  defied! 

And  if  thou  said'st  I  am  not  peer 

And  nowtocontiDQatioDof  m  i       i   ■       r.      .>        >i 

pitch  before  the  first  paren-    io  any  lord  in  Scotland  here, 

Rowland — or  higM&nd, — far — or  near, — 
Lord  Angus, — thou  hast  lied ! ' — 
Slow  and  descriptive.  On  the  EavVs  chcek — the^«s/t  of  rage — 
O'ercame  the  ashen  hue  of  age. 
Fierce — he  broke  forth :  ^And  dar'si  thou  then 
Rapid  anger.  T'  beard  the  lion  in  his  den, 
The  Douglas  in  his  hall  ? 
And  hop'st  thou  hence  unscathed  to  go? — 
No,  by  Saint  Bryde  of  Bothwell,  no  1 — 
Loud  calling.  Up  drawbridge,  grooms ! — what,  warder,  ho  I 
Let  the  portcullis  fall.' 
Lord  Marmion  turned, — well  was  his  need, — 
And  dashed — the  rowels — in  his  steed, — 
Like  arrow — through  the  archway — sprung, — 
The  ponderous  grate  behind  him  rung: 
To  pass — there  was  such  scanty  room, 
The  bars, — descending, — razed  his  plume." — [ScOTT.  I 

Example  of  Rapid  Enunciation. 

"By  torch  and  trumpet  fast  array'd, 
Each  horseman  drew  his  battle-blade ; 
And  furious  every  charger  neigh'd 

To  join  the  dreadful  revelry. 
Then  shook  the  hills  with  thunder  riven; 
Then  rush'd  the  steed  to  battle  driven; 
And  louder  than  the  bolts  of  heaven, 

Far  flashed  the  red  artillery." 

"Ah!  what  is  that  flame  which  now  bursts  on  his  eye? 

Ah!  what  is  that  sound  which  now  'larums  his  ear? 
'Tis  the  lightning's  red  glare,  painting  hell  on  the  sky  I 

'T  is  the  crushing  of  thunders,  the  groan  of  the  sphere ! 
He  springs  from  his  hammock; — he  flies  to  the  deck; — 

Amazement  confronts  him  with  images  dire; 
Wild  winds  and  mad  waves  drive  the  vessel  a  wreck; 

The  masts  fly  in  splinters,  the  shrouds  are  on  fire! 


124  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Like  mountains  the  billows  tremendously  swell ; 

In  vain  the  lost  wretch  calls  on  mercy  to  save. 
Unseen  hands  of — spirits  are  ringing  his  knell, 

And  the  death-angel — flaps  his  broad  wing  o'er  the  wave!" 

In  the  last  stanza  the  voice  falls  from  the  loud  and  rapid  move- 
ments of  excitement  to  the  slow  and  conversational  pitch.  In  the 
two  last  lines  it  descends  to  the  very  slow  and  grave  tones,  while  on 
the  word  "spirits"  it  falls  to  a  whisper,  and  the  word  "flaps"  is  ren- 
dered in  a  tremulous  half-whisper.  A  full  rhetorical  pause  is  necessary 
before  both  of  these  words  to  give  them  proper  effect. 

"  NO."    By  Eliza  Cook. 

Would  you  learn — the  bravest  thing — 

That  man — can  ever  do  ? 
Would  you  be  an  unorown'd  king, 

Absolute — and  true? 
Would  you  seek  to  emulate 

All  we  learn  in  story 
Of  the  m.oral, — -just, — and  great, 

Rich — in  real  glory  ? 
Would  you  lose  much  bitter  care 

In  your  lot  below  ? 
Bravely  speak  out — tvhen — and  where — 

'T  is  right  to  utter— "No." 

Learn  to  speak  this  little  word — 

In  its  proper  place ; — 
Let  no  timid  doubt  be  heard. 

Clothed  with  skeptic  grace; 
Let  thy  lips — without  disguise — 

Boldly  pour  it  out, 
Though  a  thousand — dulcet  lies 

Keep  hovering  about. 
For  be  sure — our  hearts — would  lose 

Future  years — of  woe 
If  our  courage — could  refuse — 

The  present  hour — with — "iVo." 

When  tem.ptation' s  form — would  lead 

To  some  pleasant  wrong ; — 
When  she  tunes  her  hollow  reed  — 

To  the  syren's  song  ; — 
When  she  offers  bribe — and  smile, 

And  our  conscience  feels 
There  is  naught — but  shining  guile 

In  the  gifts  she  deals ; 
Then,  oh!  then  let  coverage  rise 

To  its  strongest  flow ; 
Show — that  ye  are  brace — as  wise, 

And  firmly  answer — "No." 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  125 

Hearts — that  are  too  often  given 

Like  street  merchandise  ; — 
Hearts — that — like  bought  slaves — are  driven — 

In  fair  freedom' s  guise; — 
Yet — that  poison  soul — and  mind 

With  perjury's  foul  stains ; 
Yet — who  let  the  cold  world  bind — 

In  joyless  marriage  chains  ; 
Be  <7*Me — unto  yourselves — and  Ood, 

Let  rank — and  fortune  go; 
If  love — light  not  the  altar  spot, — 

JjGi  feeling  answer — '■'■No." 
3Ien — with  goodly  spirits  blest, 

Willing — to  do  right, 
Yet  who  stand — with  wavering  breast 

Beneath  Persuasion's  might. 
When  companions  seek — to  taunt 

Judgment — into  sin ; 
When  the  loud  laugh — fain  would  daunt 

Your  better  voice — within  ; 
Oh  !  be  sure — ye '11  never  meet 

More  insidious  foe; 
But  strike  the  coward — to  jonv  feet 

By  Reason's  watchword — ^^No." 
Ah,  how  many  thorns — we  wreathe 

To  twine  our  brows  around, 
By  not  knowing — when — to  breathe 

This  important  sound  I 
Many  a  breast — has  rued  the  day 

When  it  reckoned  tess — 
Of  fruits — upon  the  moral — "Nay" 

Than  flowers — upon  the — "Ves." 
Many  a  sad — repentant  thought — 

Turns — to  "  long  ago," 
When  a  luckless /a^e  was  wrought 

By  want  of  saying — "No." 
Few — have  learned  to  speak  this  word 

When  it  should  be  spoken ; 
Resolution — is  deferred, 

Vows  to  virtue — broken : 
More  of  courage  is  required 

This  one  word — to  say 
Than  to  stand — where  shots  are  fired 

In  the  battle  fray. 
Use  it  fitly — and  ye  '11  see 

Many  a  lot  below — 
May  be  schooled — and  nobly  ruled — 

By  power — to  utter — "No." 


126  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

THE  RED  HUNTERS,  OR  PRAIRIE  ON  FIRE.    M.  V.  Fuller. 
Out  of  the  woods — at  midnight 

The  swift — red  hunters — came  ; 
The  prairie — was  their  hunting-gronnd, 

The  bison — was  their  game : 
Their  spears — were  of  glist'ning  silver, 

Their  crests — were  of  blue  and  gold ; 
Driven — by  the  panting  winds  of  heav'n, — 

Their  shining  chariots — rolled. — 
Over  that  level  Awn^m^r-ground, 

Oh,  what  a  strife — was  there  ! 
What  a  shouting ! — what  a  threatening  cry  ! — 

What  a  murmur — on  the  air ! 
Their  garments — over  the  glowing  wheels 

Streamed — backward, — red  and  fair ; 
They  flamited — their  purple  banners 

In  the  face — of  each  pale  star. 

Under  their  tread — the  autumn  flowers 

By  myriads — withering  lay  : 
(Poor  things  ! — th't  from  those  golden  wheels 

Could  nowhere — shrink  away  !) 
Close, — and  crashing  together, 

The  envious  chariots — rolled ; — 
While  anon,  before  his  fellows, — 

Leaped  out — some  hunter  bold. 

Their — hot  breath, — thick  and  lowering^ 

Above — their  wild  eyes — hung. 
And  around — their  {ro-wning;  foreheads, 

Like  wreaths  of  night-shade,  hung. 
"  The  bisons  !  ho,  the  bisons  !  " 

They  cried — and  answered  back — 
(Poor  herds  of  frightened  creatures 

With  such  hunters — on  their  track  !) 

With  a  weary, — lumbering  swiftness 

They  sought — the  river's  side, — 
Driven — by  those  hunters — from  their  sleep 

Into  its  chilling  tide. 
Some  face — their  foe — with  anguish, 

Dilating — their  brute  eyes  ; — 
The  spears  of  silver  strike  them  low, — 

And  dead — each  suppliant  lies. 

Now  by  the  brightening  river — 

The  red  hunters — stand — at  bay;  * 

Vain — their  appalling  splendor — 

The  river  shields  their  prey  ! 
Into  the  waves  with  baffled  rage 

They  leap — in  death'' s  despite; — 
Their  golden  wheels  roll — roaring  in, 

And  leave  the  withered  night. 


MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION.  127 

The  eelw  is  a  re-percussion  or  reflected  sound,  and  is  sometimes 
repeated  several  times,  always  growing  fainter  in  each  reverber- 
ation. 

When  giving  imitations  of  this  in  recitations,  it  is  simply  neces- 
sary, after  speaking  the  word  to  be  echoed,  to  pause  long  enough 
for  the  supposed  sound  to  return  from  a  distance;  then  utter  it 
in  a  softer  tone  of  voice,  making  it  softer  and  less  distinct  in  each 
repetition. 

"'Gitchd  Man'ito,  the  mighty  I' 
Cried  he  with  his  fiice  uplifted 
In  that  bitter  hour  of  anguish, 
'Give  your  children  food,  O  father  I 
Give  us  food,  or  we  must  perish ! 
Give  me  food  for  Minnehaha, 
For  my  dying  Minnehaha!' 
Through  the  far-resounding  forest, 
Through  the  forest  vast  and  vacant 
Rang  that  cry  of  desolation; 
But  there  came  no  other  answer 
Than  the  echo  of  his  crying, 
Than  the  echo  of  the  woodlands, — 
[J5?cAo.]  Minnehaha ! — Minnehaha ! " 

BUGLE  SONG.    Tenntson.    ' 

The  splendor  falls  on  cas^Ze-walls, 

And  snowy  summits  old  in  story; 
The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakes, 

And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow;  set  the  wild  echoes  flying: 

[Echo.]   Blow,       bugle,       blow. 

Blow,  bugle,  blow;  answer,  echoes,  dying, — dying, — dying. 

[Echo.)  dying,  dying,  dying. 

Oh,  hark!  Oh,  heart  how  thin — and  clear, 

And  thinner, — clearer,  farther  going ! 
Oh !  sweet  and  far,  from  cliff  and  scar, 
The  horns  of  Elf -Umd— faintly  blowing ! 
Blmo;  let  us  hear  the  purple  glens  replying: 
Blow,  bugle; — answer,  echoes,  dying, — dying,  dying. 

[Echo  as  above."] 
O  love ! — they  die — in  yon  rich  sky, 

They  faint — on  field,  on  hill,  on  river; 
Our  echoes — roll — from  soul — to  soul, 
And  grow — forever — and  forever. 
Blow,  bugle, — blow ;  set  the  wild  echoes  flying, 
And  answer, — echoes,  answer,  dying, — dying, — dying. 


128  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

ECHO  SONG. 
Echo  in  the  hollow  glen, 

"Wake  ye  from  your  stilly  sleep ; 
Let  us  hear  your  voice  again, 

Clear  and   deep.        [EcIw.]    Clear  and  deep. 
Warble  for  us.  Echo,  pray  !      lEcho.]  WarWe  for  us,  Echo,  prayl 

Tell-tale  spirit,  listen  !      [Echo.]  Listen  i 

Now  our  morning  song  repeat;       IEc1u>.1    now  our  morning  song  repeat. 

Answer  now,  Echo,  pray !     lEcho.]  o  pray  i 

THE  LONG  EXPECTED:  TRUE  LOVE  NEVER  LOST.    Massey. 

Oh!  many  and  -many  a  day — before  we  met 

I  knew — some  spirit — walked  the  world  alone, 

Awaiting  the  Beloved — from  afar ; 

And  / — was  the  anointed — chosen  one 

Of  all  the  world — to  crown — her  queenly  brows — 

With  the  imperial  crown — of  human  love, — 

And  light  its  glory — in  her  happy  eyes. 

I  saw  not — (with  mine  eyes — so  full  of  tears,) 

But  heard — Faith's  low — sweet  singing — in  the  night, 

And, — (groping — through  the  darkness,)  touched — God's  hand. 

I  knew — my  sunshine — somewhere — warmed  the  world, 

Though  / — trode — darkling — in  a  perilous  way; 

And  I  should  reach  it — in  His  own — good  time, 

Who  sendeth  sun, — and  dew, — and  love — for  all : 

My  heart — might  toil  on — blindly,  but, — (like  earth,) — 

It  kept  sure  footing — through  the  thickest  gloom. 

Earth, — (with  her  thousand  voices,)  talked  of  thee; — 

Sweet  winds, — and  whispering  leaves,  and  piping  birds; 

The  trickling  sww-light  and  the  flashing  dews; 

Eve's  crimson  air — and  light  of  twinkling  gold ; 

Spring's  kindled  greenery,  and  her  breath  of  balm; 

The  happy  hum — and  stir — of  summer  woods, 

And  the  light  dropping — of  the  silver  rain. 

Thine  eyes — oped  with  their  rainy  lights — and  laughters, 

In  April's  tearful  heaven — of  tender  blue. 

With  all  the  changeful  beauty — melting  through  them, 

And  dawn — and  sunset — ended — in  thy  face. 

And  standing, — as  in  God's  own  presence-ch&vcCbQV, 

When  silence — lay  like  sleep — upon  the  world. 

And  it  seemed  rich — to  die — alone — with  night, 

Like  Moses — 'neath  the  kisses — of  God's  lips. 

The  stars — have  trembled — thro'  the  holy  hush. 

And  smiled  down  tenderly, — and  said  to  me — 

The  love — hid  for  me — in  a  budding  breast. 

Like  incense — folded  in  a  young^ower's  heart. 

Strong — as  a  sea-swell — came  the  wave  of  wings, — 

Strange  trouble — trembled  thro'  my  inner  depths, 


MANUAL   OP   ELOCUTION.  129 

And  aiiswering  wings — have  sprung  within  my  soul ; 

And — from  the  dumb, — waste  pkices — of  the  dark 

A  voice  has  breathed — "She  comes!  "  and  ebb'd  again; 

While  all  my  life — stood  listening — for  thy  coming. 

Oh !  I  have  guessed — thy  presence,  out  of  sight, 

And  felt  it — in  the  beating — of  my  heai't ! 

"When  all — was  dark — within — sweet  thoughts  would  come, 

As  starry  guests — come — golden — down  the, gloorn, — 

And  thro'  night's  lattice — smile  a  rare  delight; 

While,  (lifted — for  the  dear — and  distant  dawn,) 

The  face  of  all  things — wore  a  happy  light, — 

Like  those  rfrsawt-smiles — which  are  the  speech  of  sleep. 

Thus — love — lived  on, — and  strengthen  d — with  the  days, — 

Lit — by  its  owyi  true  light — within  my  heart, 

Like  a  live  diamond — burning — in  the  dark. 

Then — came  there  One, — a  mirage — of  the  dawn. 

She  swam  on  toward  me — in  her  sumptuous  triumph, 

Voluptuously  upborne, — (like  Aphrodite,) — 

Upon  a  meadowy  s^oell — of  emerald  sea. 

A  ripe, — serene — smile, — affluent  graciousness, — 

Hung, — (like  a  shifting  radiance,) — on  her  motion,— 

As  bickering  hues — upon  the  dove's  neck — burn. 

Her  lip — might  flush  a  wrinkled  life — in  bloom  ! 

Her  eyes — were  an  omnipotence — of  love  ! 

"Oh,  yes!" — (I  said,)  "if  such — \o\iv  glories  be, 

Sure — 't  is  a  warm  heart — feedeth  ye — with  ligJd." 

The  silver  throbbing — of  her  laughter — pulsed 

The  air — with  music — rich — and  resonant, — 

As — from  the  deep  heart — of  a  summer  night 

Some  bird, — (in  sudden  sparklings — of  fine  sound,) — 

Hurries  its  startled  being — into  song; 

And,  (from  her  sumptuous  wealth — of  golden  hair — 

Unto  the  delicate — pearly  ^n^rej'-tip,) 

Fresh  beauty — trembled  from  its  thousand  springs: 

And, — (standing  in  the  outer  porch  of  life,) 

All  eager — for  the  tempted  mysteries, 

With  a  rich  heart — as  full  of  fragrant  love — 

As  May's  nmsk-roses  are — of  viorning's  wine. 

What  marvel — if  I  questioned  not  her  brow. 

For  the  /?ft»ne-signet — of  the  hand  divine. 

Or  gauged  it — for  the  crown — of  my  large  love  ? 

I  plunged — to  clutch  the  pearl — of  her  babbling  beauty. 

Like  some  swift  diver — in  a  shallow  stream, 

That  smites  his  life  out — on  its  heart  of  stone. 

Ah!  how  my  life  did  run — with^?'e — and  tears! 

With  what  a  Ti^nn-pulse — my  loxte  did  beat! 

But  she, — (7'o.se-lined — without — God  pity  her!) 

Was  cold — at  heai-t — as  s7iow — in  last  year's  tiest, — 

9 


130  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

And  struck, — (like  death,) — into  my  burning  brain. 

My  tears — (th't  rained  out  life)  she  froze — m  falling, 

And  wwe  them, — (Jewel-W\ie,) — to  deck  her  triumph  I 

But  love — is  never  lost, — tho'  hearts  run  waste; 

Its  tides — may  gush — 'mid  swirling, — swathing  deserts, 

Where  no  green  leaf — drinks  up  precious  life; 

Yet  love  dotli — [evermore) — enrich  itself ; — 

Its  bitterest  waters — run  some — golden  sands! 

No  star — goes  down — but  climbs — in  other  skies; 

The  rose — of  sunset — folds  its  glory  up 

To  burst  again — from  out  the  heart  of  daton; 

And  love — is  never  lost, — tho'  hearts  run  waste. 

And  sorrow — makes  the  chastened  heart — a  seer; 

The  deepest  dark — reveals  the  starriest  hope, — 

And  Faith — can  trust  her  heaven — behind — the  veil. 

,     LOVE,  OR  HOW  I  WON  MY  GENEVIEVE.    Coleridge. 

All  thoughts, — all  passions, — all  delights, 
Whatever — stirs — this  inortal  frame, 

All  are — but  ministers — of  Love, 
And  feed — his  sacred  ^fame. 

Oft — in  my  waking  dreams — do  I 
Live  o'er  again — that  happy  hour, 

When — [tnidway)  on  the  mount  I  lay 
Beside  the  ruin'd  toioer. 

The  moonshine — (stealing  o'er  the  scene) 
Had  blended — with  the  lights  of  eve  ; 

And  she — was  there,  (my  hojie, — vaj  joy!) 
My  own — dear  Genevieve  ! 

She  leaned — against  the  armed  7nan, 
The  statue — of  the  armed  knight ; 

She  stood — and  listened — to  my  lay 
Amid  the  lingering  light. 

Few  sorrows — hath  she  of  her  own. 
My  ho})e!  mj  joy!  my  Genevieve  I 

She  loves  me  best — whene'er  I  sing 
The  songs — th't  make  her  grieve. 

I  plaj'ed  a  soft — and  doleful  air, 
I  sang  an  old — and  m.oving  story, — 

An  old — rude  song,  th't  suited  ivell 
That  ruin — ivild — and  hoary. 

She  listened — with  a  flitting  bhish. 

With  downcast  eyes — and  modest  ^rrace  ; 

For  well  she  knew — I  could  not  choose 
But  gaze — upon  her  face. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  ]31 

I  told  her — of  the  Knight — that  wore 

Upon  his  shield — a  burning  brand; 
And — th't  (for  ten  long  years) — he  wooed 

The  Lady — of  the  Land. 

I  told  her — how  he  pined: — and,  ah! 

The  low, — the  deep, — the  pleading  tone — 
With  which — I  sang  another's  love, 

Interpreted — my  oum. 

She  listened — with  a  flitting  Mush, 

With  downcast  eyes — and  modest  grace  ; 
And  she  forgave  me — th't  I  gazed 

Too  fondly — on  her /ace. 

But — when  I  told — the  cruel  scorn 
Which  crazed — this  bold — and  lovely  Knight, 

And — that  he  cross'd — the  moMwtein-woods, 
Nor  rested — day — nor  night; 

But — sometimes — from  the  savage  den. 
And — sometimes — from  the  darksome  shade, 

And — sometitnes — starting  up — (at  once) — 
In  green — and  sunny  glade, — 

There  came — and  looked  him — (in  the /ace) — 

An  angel — beautiful — and  bright  ! 
And — th't  he  knew — it  was  a  Fiend — 

(This  m-iserable  Knight!) 

And — th't,  unknofwing — what  he  did, 

He  leaped  amid  a  murderous  band, — 
And  saved  from  outrage — worse  than  death — 

The  Lady — of  the  Land; 

And — how  she  wept — and  clasp'd  his  knees, 

And — how  she  tended  him — in  vain, — 
And — ever — strove  to  expiate 

The  scorn — th't  crazed  his  brain  ; 

And — th't  she  nursed  him — in  a  cave; 

And — how  his  madness — went  away 
When — (on  the  yellow /oresf-leaves) — 

A  dying  m,an — he  lay ; 

His  dying  words, — but  when  I  reached 

That  tenderest  strain — of  all  the  ditty. 
My  faltering  voice — and  pausing  harp 

Disturbed  her  soul — with  pity ! 

All  impulses— of  soul — and  sense — 

Had  thrilled — my  guileless  Genevieve! 
The  m.usic — and  the  doleful  tale, — 

The  rich — and  balmy  eve ; 


132  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION, 

And  hopes, — and /ears — th't  kindle  hope, 

An  undistinguishable  throng ; 
And  gentle  wishes — long  subdued, 

Subdued — and  cherished — long ! 
She  wept — with  pity — and  delight, 

She  blushed — with  love — and  virgin  shame; 
And, — (like  the  murmur — of  a  dream^) 

I  heard  her — breathe  my  name. 
Her  bosom  heaved, — she  stept  aside  ; 

(As  conscious — of  my  look,  she  stept;) —       " 
Then — suddenly — (with  timorous  eye) 

She^erf — to  nie — and  wept. 
She  half  inclosed  me — with  her  arms, 

She  pressed  me — with  a  meek  embrace  ; 
And, — (bending  back  her  head,)  looked  up 

And  gazed — upon  my  face. 
'T  was  partly — love, — and  partly — fear^ 

And  partly — 't  was  a  bashful  a?'<, 
That  I  might  raihevfeel — than  see — 

The  swelling — of  her  heart. 
I  calmed  her  fears ;  and  she  was  calm, 

And  told  her  love — (with  virgin  pride;) 
And  so — I  won — my  Genevieve  ! 

My  bright — and  beauteous  bride  ! 

EDWARD  GRAY.    Tennyson. 

Sweet  Emma  Moreland — (of  yonder  town) — 
Met  me — walking  on  yonder  way, — 

"And  have  you  lost — ^your  heart?" — (she  said;) 
"And  are  you  married  yet, — Edward  Gray?" 

Sweet  Emma  Moreland — spoke  to  me : 
Bitterly  weeping — I  turned  away: 

"  Sweet  Emma  Moreland, — love — no  more — 
Can  touch — the  heart — of  Edward  Gray. 

Ellen  Adair — she  loved  me  well, — 

Against  hev  father' s — and  mother's  will: 

To-day — I  sat — (for  an  hour,)  and  wept — 
By  Ellen's  grave, — on  the  windy  hill. 

Shy  she  was, — and  I  thought  her  cold; 

Thought  her  proud, — and  fled — over  the  sea; 
Fill'd  I  was — with  folly — and  spite, — 

When  Ellen  Adair — was  dying — for  me. 

Cruel, — crttel — the  vjords  I  said! 

Cruelty — came  they  back — to-day: 
'You're  too  slight — and  fickle,' — (I  said,) 

'  To  trotible — the  heart — of  Edward  Gray.' 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  133 

There — I  put  my  face — in  the  grass — 

Whispered, — ^Listen — to  my  despair : 
I  repent  me — of  all — I  did: 

Speak  a  little, —  Ellen  Adair  .'^ 

Then — I  took  a  pencil, — and  wrote 

On  the  mossy  stone, — (as  I  lay,) — 
'Here — lies  the  body — of  Ellen  Adair; 

And  here — the  heart — of  Edward  Gray  I ' 

Love — may  come, — and  love — may  go, 

AnAJly, — (like  a  bird,)  from  tree — to  tree: 
But  / — will  love — no  more, — no  more — 

Till  Ellen  Adah — come  back  to  me. 

Bitterly — wept  I — over  the  stone : 

Bitterly  weeping — I  turned  away: 
There — lies  the  body — of  Ellen  Adair  t 

And  there — the  heai-t — of  Edward — Gray  ! " 

ADDRESS  TO  THE  OCEAN.    Byron. 

Oh !  that  the  desert — were  my  dwelling-Tpi&ce, 

With  one  fair  spirit — for  my  minister, 
That  I  might  all  forget — the  human  race, 

And,  hating  no  one,  love  but  only  her  I 
Ye  elements! — (in  whose  ennobling  stir 

I  feel  myself  exalted) — Can  ye  not 
Accord  me  such  a  being  ?     Do  I  err 

In  deeming  such — inhabit  many  a  spot  ? 
Though  with  them  to  co?it>erse— can  rarely — be  our  lot. 

There  is  9u  pleasure — in  the  pathless  woods; 

There  is  a  rapture — on  the  lonely  shore ; 
There  is  .  .  society,  where  none  intrudes, 

By  the  deep  sea,  and  music  in  its  roar : 
I  love  not  man — the  less,  but  nature — more, 

From  these  our  interviews,  in  which  I  steal 
From  all  I  may  be,  or  have  been — before, 

To  mingle — with  the  universe, — and/eeZ-;- 
What  I  can  ne'er  express,  yet  can  not  all — conceal. 

Roll  on,  thou  deep — and  dark  blue  ocean, — roll  ! 

Ten  thousand  fleets — sweep — over  thee  in  vain ;  \ 
Man — miarks  the  earth — with  ruin ; — his  control 

Stops — with  the  shore ; — upon  the  watery  plain — 
The  wrecks  are  all  thy  deed, — nor  doth — remain 

A  shadow — of  man's  ravage, — save  his  own, 
When  (for  a  moment,)  like  a  drop  of  rain. 

He  sinks — into  thy  depths — with  bubbling  groan. 
Without  a  grave, — unknelled, — uncoffined, — and  unknown. 


134  •  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

His  steps — are  not  upon  thy  paths; — thy  fields — 

Are  not  a  spoil — for  him; — thou  dost  arise, — 
And  shake  him  from  thee; — the  vile  strength — he  wields 

For  earth's  destruction,  thou — dost  all  despise, 
Spurning  him — from  thy  bosom — to  the  skies. 

And  send'st  him — [shivering)  in  thy  playful  spray, 
And  howling — to  his  gods, — where — haply — lies 

His  petty  hope,  in  some  near  ^or^ — or  bay, 
And  dashest  him  again  to  earth : — there — let  him  lay. 

The  armaments — which  thunderstrike — the  walls 

Of  rock-built  cities, — bidding  nations  quake, 
And  m,onarchs  tremble — in  their  capitals; — 

The  oak  leviathans, — whose  huge  ribs — make 
Their  clay  creator  the  vain  title  take 

Of  lord — of  thee, — and  arbiter — of  war; 
These — are  thy  toys, — and, — as  the  snowy  flake, 

They  melt — into  thy  yest  of  waves,  which  mar 
Alike  the  Ar^nada's  pride — or  spoils — of  Trafalgar. 

The  shores — are  empires, — changed  in  all — save  thee. 

Assyria, — Greece, — Rome, —  Carthage, — what  are  they? 
Thy  waters — vjasted  them — while  they  were  free. 

And  many  a  tyrant — since;  their  shores — obey 
The  stranger, — slate, — or  savage;  their  decay — 

Has  dried  up  realms — to  deserts  :^noi  so  thou, 
Unchangeable, — save  thy  wild  waves'  play, — 

Time — writes  no  torinkle — on  thine  azure  brow ; — 
Such  . .  as  creation's  dawn  beheld,  thou  rollest  now. 

Thou  glorious  mirror, — where  the  Almighty's  form — 

Glasses  itself  in  tempests;  in  all  time, — 
Calm — or  convulsed — in  breeze, — or  gale, — or  storm, 

Icing  the  pole, — or  in  the  torrid  clime 
Dark  heaving;  boundless, — endless, — and  sublime — 

The  image — of  eternity — the  throne — 
Of  the  Invisible;  even  from  out  thy  slime — 

The  7nonsters — of  the  deep  are  made;  each  zone — 
Obeys  thee ;  thou  goest  forth — dread, — fathomless, — alone. 

And  I  have  loved  thee, — Ocean!  and  my  joy 

Of  youthful  sports — was  on  thy  breast  to  be 
Borne,  like  thy  bubbles, — omoard:  from  a  boy — 

I  wantoned  with  thy  breakers:  they — to  »?ie — 
Were  a  delight;  and  if  the  freshening  sea 

Made  them  a  terror, — 't  was  a  pleasing  fear, 
For  I  was,  (as  it  were,)  a  cMld  of  thee, 

And  I  trusted  to  thy  billows^far — and  near, 
And  laid  my  hand — upon  thy  mane, — as  I  do  here. 


MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION.  I35 

My  task — is  done;  my  sow^  hath  ceased; — my  theme 

Has  died — into  an  echo:  it  '\9>  Jit 
The  spell  should  bi-eak  of  this  protracted  dream. 

The  torch — shall  be  extinguished — which  hath  lit 
My  midnight  lamp, — and — what  is  writ  is  writ. 

Would — it  were  ivorthier! — but  I  am  not  now — 
That — which  I  have  been, — and  my  visions — flit 

Less  palpably  before  me, — and  the  glow — 
.  Which — in  my  spiHt  dwelt — is  fluttering,— faint, — and  low. 

THE  OCEAN.    Fanny  Green. 

With  the  boundless  sea  around, — and  the  boundless  sky  above,  I  have  been 
for  days,  as  it  were,  swallowed  up  in  the  grandeur  of  the  scene.  You  remem- 
ber, my  brother,  when  we  stood  together  in  the  midst  of  the  Great  Desert,  and 
the  deep  repose  of  a  starry  night  was  folded  round  us  as  a  garment.  Silence 
stretched  out  her  great  wings,  brooding  over  all  things,  and  Fear  shrunk 
trembling  into  the  deepest  shadows.  The  crouching  lion  was  hushed  in  his 
lair,  and  stirred  not  even  when  the  grim  shadow  of  the  silent-footed  camels 
fell  across  his  track;  and  the  silly  ostrich  hid  her  head  in  the  sand  and  nestled 
silently,  as  if  she  too  felt  the  great  Power  that  lives  in  Nature. 

We  stood  together,  grasping  each  other  by  the  hand, — silent  before  the 
Majesty  which  had  clothed  itself  in  vasiness,  and  reigned  alone.  Oppressed 
with  a  strange  awe,  we  could  only  whisper,  "How  g7-eat  is  Allah!"  Then  we 
started  at  the  sound  of  our  own  voices,  which  were  drunk  up  in  a  moment; 
for  the  stilbiess  itself — was  the  profoundest  voice  of  God. 

A  night  view  of  the  sea  is  akin  to  that;  but  in  some  respects  quite  different. 
The  desert  lies  stretched  out  in  its  immensity,  boundless  in  extent,  and  terrible 
in  stillness;  but  wholly  void  of  life.  The  great  creation  seems  to  have  dropped 
still-born  from  the  hands  of  Allah ;  and,  thenceforth  become  dead,  it  lies  as  it 
was  first  laid,  with  the  sorrowful  and  silent  stars  looking  in  its  wan  face; 
though  the  Ages  have  embalmed  it,  and  like  the  Dead  of  Egypt  it  has  been 
brought  to  the  Banquet  of  Life. 

But  the  sea  is  full  of  rnotion,  of  physical  character  and  life  in  their  grandest 
forms.  It  is  in  itself  a  great  motive  power,  and  only  weaker  than  the  Strong- 
est. As  I  look  afar  over  the  broad,  heaving  bosom  of  the  ocean,  I  am  filled 
with  a  variety  of  strange  and  neio  sensations.  I  feel  a  deep  longing  after  the 
Beautifid  and  the  True.  I  stretch  out  my  arms  to  embrace  the  Greatness.  I 
aspire  toward  all  the  Possible. 

THE  ALPS.    Willis  Gatlobd  Clark. 

Vroxxdi  m,onunients — of  God!  sublime  ye  stand 

Among  the  wonders — of  his  mighty  hand: 

With  summits — soaring  in  the  upper  sky, 

Where  the  broad  day  looks  down — with  burning  eye; 

Where  gorgeous  clouds — in  solemn  pomp  repose, 

Flinging  rich  shadows — on  eternal  snoivs : 

Piles — of  triumphant  dust,  ye  stand  alone, 

And  hold,  (in  kingly  st&te,)  &  peerless  throne  I 


136  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Like  olden  conquerors,  on  high  ye  rear 
The  regal  ensign,  and  the  glittering  spear : 
Kound  icy  spires — the  mists,  (in  wreaths  unrolled,) 
Float  ever  near,  in  purple— or  in  gold; 
And  voiceful  torrents,  sternly  rolling  there, 
Fill  (with  wild  music)  the  unpillared  air: 
What  garden,  or  what  hall — on  earth  beneath, 
Thrills  to  such  tones  as  o'er  the  mountains  breathe? 

There,  (through  long  ages  past,)  those  summits  shone 
"When  morning  radiance — on  their  state  was  thrown; 
There,  (when  the  summer  day's  career  was  done,) 
Played  the  last  glory — of  the  sinking  sun; 
There,  (sprinkled  luster — o'er  the  cataract's  shade,) 
The  chastened  m,oon — her  glittering  rainbow  made; 
And, — (blent  with  pictured  stars,)  her  luster  lay 
Where — (to  still  vales)  the  free  streams  leaped  away. 

Where — are  the  thronging  hosts — of  other  days, 
Whose  banners — floated  o'er  the  Alpine  ways; 
Who,  (through  their  high  defiles,)  to  battle — wound. 
While  deadly  ordnance — stirred  the  heights  around  ? 
Gone,  like  the  dream — that  melts  at  early  ynorn, 
When  the  lark's  anthem — through  the  sky  is  borne: 
Gone,  like  the  wrecks — that  sink  in  ocean's  spray. 
And  chill  Oblivion — murmurs  :  Where  are  they  ? 

Yet  "Alps — on  Alps"  still  rise;  the  lofty  home 

Of  storms — and  eagles,  where  their  pinions  roam  ; 

Still — round  their  peaks — the  magic  colors  lie, 

(Of  m,or7i — and  eve,)  imprinted — on  the  sky ; 

And  still,  while  kings — and  thrones — shall  fade — and  fall, 

And  empty  crowns — lie  ditn — upon  ihepall; 

Still — shall  their  glaciers  flash ;  their  torrents  roar, 

Till  kingdoms  fail,  and  nations — rise  no  more. 

,  THE  CELESTIAL  ARMY.    T.  Buchanan  Read. 

I  stood  by  the  open  easement. 

And  looked  upon  the  night, 
And  saw  the  westward-going  stars 

Pass  slowly  out  of  sight. 

Slowly  the  bright  procession 
Went  down  the  gleaming  arch, 

And  my  soul  discerned  the  music 
Of  their  long  triumphant  march. 

Till  the  great  celestial  army. 
Stretching  far  beyond  the  poles, 

Became  the  eternal  symbol 
Of  the  mighty  march  of  souls. 


MANUAL   OP   ELOCUTION.  137 

Onward!  forever  onward, 

Ked  Mars  led  down  his  clan, 
And  the  moon,  like  a  mailed  maiden, 

Was  riding  in  the  van. 

And  some  were  bright  in  beauty, 

And  some  were  faint  and  small ; 
But  these  might  be  in  their  great  height 

The  noblest  of  them  all. 

Downward !  forever  downward. 

Behind  earth's  dusky  shore, 
They  passed  into  the  unknown  night — 

They  passed,  and  were  no  more. 

No  more!     Oh,  say  not  so! 

And  downward  is  not  just; 
!For  the  sight  is  weak  and  the  sense  is  dim 

That  looks  through  the  heated  dust. 

The  stars  and  the  mailed  moon, 

Though  they  seem  to  fall  and  die. 
Still  sweep  with  their  embattled  lines 

An  endless  reach  of  sky. 

And  though  the  hills  of  death 

May  hide  the  bright  array. 
The  marshaled  brotherhood  of  souls 

Still  keeps  its  upward  way. 

Upward!  forever  upward! 

I  see  their  march  sublime, 
And  hear  the  glorious  music 

Of  the  conquerors  of  time. 

And  long  let  me  remember. 

That  the  palest  fainting  one 
May  unto  divine  wisdom  be 

A  bright  and  blazing  sun. 

THE  URSA  MAJOR.    H.  Ware,  Jh. 

With  what  a  stately  and  majestic  step — 

That  glorious  constellation  of  the  North — 

Treads  its  eternal  circle ! — going  forth 

Its  princely  way  amongst  the  stars  in  slow 

And  silent  brightness.     Mighty  one, — all  hail  I 

I  joy  to  see  thee  on  thy  glowing  path 

Walk  like  some  stout  and  girded  giant — stern, — 

Unwearied, — resolute,  whose  toiling  foot 

Disdains  to  loiter  on  its  destined  way. 

The  other  tribes  forsake  their  midnight  track. 

And  rest  their  weary  orbs  beneath  the  wave; 


138  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

But  thou  dost  never  close  thy  burning  eye, 

Nor  siay  thy  steadfast  step ; — but  on, — still  on, 

While  systems — change  and  suns — retire,  and  worlds — 

Slumber — and  wake,  thy  ceaseless  march  proceeds. 

The  near  horizon  tempts  to  rest  in  vain  ; 

Thou,  faithful  sentinel,  dost  never  quit 

Thy  long-appointed  watch  ; — but,  sleepless  still, — 

Dost  guard  the  fixed  light  of  the  universe, 

And  bid  the  north — forever  know  its  place. 

Ages  have  witnessed  thy  devoted  trust. 
Unchanged,  unchanging. 

When  the  sons  of  God 
Sent  forth  that  shout  of  joy  which  rang  thro'  heaven. 
And  echoed  from  the  outer  spheres — that  bound 
The  illimitable  universe, — thy  voice 
Joined  the  high  chorus;  from  thy  radiant  orbs 
The  glad  cry  resounded,  swelling  to  his  praise 
Who  thus  had  cast  another  sparkling  gem, 
Little  but  beautiful,  amid  the  crowd 
Of  splendors — that  enrich  his  firmament: 
As  thou  art  now, — so  wast  thou  then  the  same. 
Ages  have  roll'd  their  course,  and  time  grows  gray; 
The  seas  have  changed  their  beds ;  the  eternal  hills 
Have  stoop'd  with  age; — the  solid  continents 
Have  left  their  banks;  and  man's  imperial  works, — 
The  toil,  pride,  strength  of  kingdoms,  which  had  flung 
Their  mighty  honors  in  the  face  of  heaven, 
As  if  immortal, — have  been  swept  away, — 
Shatter' d  and  moldering, — buried  and  forgot. 
But  time  has  shed  no — dimness  on  ih\  front, 
Nor  touched  the  firmness  of  thy — tread: — youth,  strength, 
And  beauty  still  are  thine, — as  clear,  as  bright 
As  when  the  Almighty  Former  sent  thee  forth, 
Beautiful  offspring  of  his  curious  skill, 
To  watch  earth's  northern  beacon,  and  proclaim 
The  chorus  of — Eternal  Love. 

I  vjonder  as  I  gaze !     That  stream  of  light, 

Undimm'd, — unquench'd, — ^just  as  I  see  thee  now. 

Has  issued  from  those  dazzling  points  thro'  years 

That  go  back — far  into  eternity. 

Exhaustless  flood  ! — forever  spent !  renewed 

Forever !     Yea,  and  those  refulgent  drops. 

Which  now  descend  upon  my  lifted  eye. 

Left  their  fair  fountain  twice  three  years  ago: — 

So  far  from  earth  those  mighty  orbs  revolve ; 

So  vast  the  void  through  which  their  beams  descend. 

Yea,  glorious  lamps  of  God,  he  may  have  quencKd 

Your  ancient  /fames,  and  bid  eternal  night 

Rest  on  your  spheres,  and  yet  no  tidings  reach 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  ^39 

This  distant  planet.     Messengers  still  come, 
Laden  with  your  far  fire,  and  we  may  seem 
To  see  your  lights  still  burning,  while  their  blaze 
But — hides  the  black  wreck  of  extinguished — realms, 
Where  anarchy — and  darkness  long  have  reign'd. 
Yet  what  is  this  which  to  the  astonish'd  mind 
Seems  measureless,  and  which  the  baffled  thought 
Confounds  ?     A  span,  a  point  in  those  dominions 
"Which  the  keen  eye  can  traverse.     Seven  stars 
Dwell  in  that  brilliant  cluster ;  and  the  sight 
Embraces  all  at  once ;  yet  each  from  each 
Recedes  as  far  as  each  of  them  from  earth, — 
And  every  star  from  ev'ry  other  burns 
No  less  remote. 

From  the  profound  of  heaven, 
Untravel'd  e'en  in  thought, — keen-piercing  rays 
Dart  through  the  void,  revealing  to  the  sense 
Systems — and — xvorlds — unnumbered.     Take  the  glass, 
And  search  the  skies.     The  opening  heavens  pour  down 
Upon  your  gaze — thick  showers  of  sparkling yzVe; — 
Stars  crowded, — thronged,  in  regions  so  remote 
That  their  swift  beams — the  swiftest  things  that  be — 
Have  traveled  centuries  on  their  flight  to  earth. 
Earth,  sun,  and  nearer  constellations,  what 
Are  ye  amid  this  infinite  expanse 
And  multitude  of  God's  most  infinite  works? 

And  these  are  Suns! — vast  central, — living — fires, — 

Lords  of  dependent  systems, — kings  of  worlds — 

That  wait  as  satellites  upon  their  power, 

And  flourish  in  their  smile.     Awake,  my  so^il, 

And  meditate  and — wo7ider.'     Countless  suns 

Blaze  round  thee,  leading  forth  their  countless  worlds! 

"Worlds — in  whose  bosoms — living  things  rejoice, 

And  drink  the  bliss  of  being  from  the  fount 

Of  all-pervading  love. 

"What  mind  can  know, 
"What  tongue  can  utter  all  their  multitudes? 
Thus  numberless  in  numberless  abodes  ! 
Known  but  to  the  blessed  Father!     Thine — they  are 
Thy  children — and  thy  care;  and  none — o'erlooked 
Of  thee! — no,  not  the  humblest  sonl  that  dwells 
Upon  the  humblest  globe — which  wheels  its  course 
Amid  the  giant  glories  of  the  sky. 
Like  the  mean  mote  that  dances  in  the  beams, 
Amongst  the  mirror 'd  lamps — which  fling 
Their  wasteful  splendor  from  the  palace  wall. 
None  can  escape  the  kindness  of  thy  care : 
All  compass'd  underneath  thy  spacious  wing, 
Each  fed  and  guided  by  thy  powerful  hand. 


140  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Tell  me,  ye  splendid  orbs, — as  from  your  throne 

Ye  mark  the  rolling  provinces  that  own 

Your  sway,  what  beings  fill  those  bright  abodes  ? 

Do  they  bear 
The  stamp  of  human — nature^  or  has  God 
Peopled  those  purer  realms — with  lovelier  forms 
And  more  celestial — minds?     Does  innocence 
Still  wear  her  native  and  untainted  bloom ; 
Or  has  sin  breathed  his  deadly  blight  abroad 
And  sown  corruption  in  those  fairy  bowers? 
Or  are  they  yet  all  Paradise, — unf alien 
And  uncorrupt, — existence  one  long  joy, 
Without  disease  upon  the/rame,  or  sin 
Upon  the  heart, — or  weariness  of  life  ? 
Hope  never  quenched, — and  age — unknown. 
And — death — unf  ear' d; — while  fresh  and  fadeless  youth 
Glows  in  the  light  from  God's  near  throne  of  love? 
Open  your  lips,  ye  wonderful  and  fair! 
Speak !  speak !  the  mysteries  of  those  living  worlds 
Unfold!     No  language?     Everlasting  light 
And  everlasting  silence?     Yet  the  eye 
May  read  and  understand.     The  hand  of  God 
Has  written  legibly  what  tnan  may  know — 
The  glory  of  his  Maker.     There  it  shines, 
Ineffable,  unchangeable;  and  man. 
Bound  to  the  surface  of  this  pigmy  globe, 
May  know,  and  ask  no  more. 

In  other  days. 
When  death — shall  give  the  encumbered  spirit  wings. 
Its  range  shall  be  extended;  it  shall  roam 
Perchance  amongst  those  vast  mysterious  spheres ; — 
Shall  pass  from  orh  to  orb, — and  dwell  in  each, 
Familiar  with  its  children. 

Eternity 
Shall  thus  roll  on  with  ever  fresh  delight, — 
No  pause  of  pleasure  or  improvement; 

While  the  soul, — 
Advancing  even  to  the  source  of  light 
And  all  perfection, — lives,  adores,  and  reigns 
In  cloudless  knowledge,  purity,  and  bliss. 

PARADISE  AND  THE  PERI.    Moore. 

One  morn — a  Peri  at  the  gate 
Of  Eden  stood, — disconsolate; 
And  as  she  listened  to  the  Springs 

Of  Life  within, — like  music  flowing, — 
And  caught  the  light  upon  her  wings 

Through  the  half-open  portal  glowing. 
She  wept  to  think  her  recreant  race 
Should  e'er  have  lost  that  glorious  place! 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  14^ 

"  How  happy,"  exclaimed  this  child  of  air, 

"  Are  the  holy  Spirits  who  wander  there 

'Mid  flowers  that  shall  never  fade  or  fall; 
Though  mine  are  the  gardens  of  earth  and  sea, 
And  the  stars  themselves  have  flowers  for  me, 

One  blosson  of  Heaven  outblooms  them  all. 

"Though  sunny  the  lake  of  cool  Cashmere, 
With  its  plane-tree  Isle  reflected  clear, 

And  sweetly  the  founts  of  that  valley  fall; 
Though  bright  are  the  waters  of  Sing-su-hay, 
And  the  golden  floods  that  thitherward  stray ; 
Yet, — oh !  't  is  only  the  blest  can  say 

How  the  waters  of  Heaven  outshine  them  all! 

"Go, — wing  your  flight  from  star  to  star, 
From  world  to  luminous  world,  as  far 

As  the  universe  spreads  its  flaming  wall : 
Take  all  the  pleasures  of  all  the  spheres, 
And  multiply  each  through  endless  years. 

One  minute  of  Heaven  is  worth  them  aW/" 

The  glorious  Angel,  who  was  keeping 
The  gates  of  Light,  beheld  her  weeping; 
And,  as  he  nearer  drew  and  listen'd 
To  her  sad  song,  a  tear-drop  glisten'd 
"Within  his  eyelids,  like  the  spray 

From  Eden's  fountain,  when  it  lies 
On  the  blue  flow'r,  which — Brahmins  say — 

Blooms  nowhere  but  in  Paradise. 

"  Nymph  of  a  fair — but  erring  line ! " 
Gently  he  said — "  One  hope  is  thine. 
'T  is  written  in  the  book  of  fate, 

That  Peri  yet  may  be  forgiven 
Who  brings  to  this  eternal  gate 

The  gift  that  is  most  dear  to  Heaven  ! 
Go, — seek  it, — and  redeetn  thy  sin — 
'T  is  svseet  to  let  the  Pardoned  in." 

Kapidly  as  comets  run 

To  the  embrace  of  the  Sun ; — 

Fleeter  than  the  starry  brands 

Flung  at  night  from  angel  hands, 

At  those  dark  and  daring  sprites 

Who  would  climb  th'  empyrical  heights, 

Down  the  blue  vault  the  Peri  flies, 
And,  lighted  earthward  by  a  glance 

That  just  then  broke  from  Morning's  eyes, 
Hung  hov'ring  o'er  the  world's  expanse. 


142  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

But  whither  shall  the  Spirit  go 

To  find  this  gift  from  Heaven?     "I  know 

The  wealth,"  she  cries,  "of  every  urn, 

In  which  unnumbered  rubies  burn. 

Beneath  the  pillars  of  Chilminar : 

I  know  where  the  Isles  of  Perfume  are, 

Many  a  fathom  down  in  the  sea, 

To  the  south  of  sun-bright  Araby ; 

I  know,  too,  where  the  Genii  hid 

The  jewel'd  cup  of  their  King  Jamshid, 

With  Life's  elixir  sparkling  high : 

But  gifts  like  these  are  not  for  the  sky. 

Where  was  there  ever  a  gem  that  shone 

Like  the  steps  of  Alla's  wonderful  Throne? 

And  the  Drops  of  Life — oh !  what  would  they  be 

In  the  boundless  Deep  of  Eternity?" 

While  thus  she  mused,  her  pinions  fann'd 
The  airs  of  the  sweet  Indian  land. 
Whose  air  is  balm,  whose  ocean  spreads 
O'er  coral  rocks  and  amber  beds-^ 
Whose  sandal  groves  and  bowers  of  spice 
Might  be  a  Peri's  Paradise ! 
But  crimson  now  her  rivers  ran 

With  human  blood ; — the  smell  of  death 
Came  reeking  from  those  spicy  bowers ; 
And  man, — the  sacrifice  of  man, — 

Mingled  his  taint  with  every  breath 
Upwafted  from  the  innocent  flowers. 

Land  of  the  Sun  !     What  foot  invades 
Thy  Pagods  and  thy  pillar' d  shades, — 
Thy  cavern-shrines,  and  Idol-stones, 
Thy  Monarchs  and  their  thousand  Thrones  ? 
'T  is  He  of  Gazna — fierce  in  wrath 

He  comes,  and  India's  diadems 
Lie  scattered  in  his  ruinous  path. 

His  bloodhounds  he  adorns  with  gems. 

Torn  from  the  violated  necks 
Of  many  a  young  and  loved  Sultana ; 
Maidens,  within  their  pure  Zenenna, 
Priests — in  the  very  fane  he  slaughters, 

And  chokes  up  with  glittering  wrecks 
Of  golden  shrines  the  sacred  waters ! 
Downward  the  Peri  turns  her  gaze, 
And,  through  the  war-field's  bloody  haze. 
Beholds  a  youthful  warrior  stand 

Alone, — beside  his  native  river, — 
The  red  blade  broken  in  his  hand, 

And  the  last  arrow  in  his  quiver. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  I43 

"  Live,"  said  the  Conqueror,  "  live  to  share 

The  trophies  and  the  crowns  I  bear !  " 

Silent  that  youthful  warrior  stood ; 

Silent  he  pointed  to  the  flood. 

All  crimson  with  his  country's  blood; 

Then  sent  his  last  remaining  dart, 

For  answer, — to  the  Invader's  heart. 

False  flew  the  shaft,  though  pointed  well ; 
The  Tyrant  lived,— the  Hero— fell ! 
Yet  marked  the  Peri  where  he  lay ; 

And  when  the  rush  of  wars  was  past, 
Swiftly  descending  on  a  ray 

Of  morning  light,  she  caught  the  last, — 
Last — glorious  drop  his  heart  had  shed 
Before  his  free-born  spirit  fled ! 

"  Be  this,"  she  cried,  as  she  winged  her  flight, 
"  My  welcome  gift  at  the  Gates  of  Light. 
Though  foul  are  the  drops  that  oft  distill 

On  the  field  of  warfare, — blood  like  this, 

For  Liberty  shed,  so  holy  is. 
It  would  not  stain  the  purest  rill 

That  sparkles  among  the  Bowers  of  Bliss ! 
Oh !  if  there  be  on  this  earthly  sphere  ' 

A  boon, — an  off"ering  Heaven  holds  dear, 
'T  is  the  last  libation  Liberty  draws 
From  the  heart  that  bleeds  and  breaks  in  her  cause !  " 

"  Sweet,"  said  the  Angel, — as  she  gave 

The  gift  into  his  radiant  hand, — 
"  Sweet  is  our  welcome  of  the  Brave 

"Who  die  thus  for  their  native  land : — 
But  see — alas ! — the  crystal  bar 
Of  Eden  moves  not ; — holier  far 
Than  even  this  drop  the  boon  must  be 
That  opes  the  Gates  of  Heaven  for  thee ! " 

BATTLE  OF  BUNKER  HILL.    F.  S.  Cozens. 

It  was  a  starry  night — in  June;  the  air — was  soft — and  still, 

When  the  minute-men — (from  Cambridge)  came, — and  gathered — on  the  hill. 

Beneath  us — lay  the  sleeping  toivn;  around  us — frowned  i\iQj1eet; 

But — i\ie jjulse — oi  freemen,  [not  of  slaves,)  within  our  bosoms  beat; 

And  eve7'y  heart — rose  /dgh — with  hope, — as — (fearlessly)  we  said, — 

"  We  will  be  numbered — with  the  free, — or  numbered — with  the  dead." 

"  Bring  out  the  line — to  mark  the  trench, — and  stretch  it — on  the  sword!" 

The  trench — is  marked, — the  tools — are  brought, — and  we  utter — not  word; 

But  stack  our  guns, — then  fall  to  work — with  mattock — and  with  spade, 

A  thousand  men — with  sinewy  anns, — and  not  a  sound — is  made : 

So  still  were  we — (the  stars  beneath)  th't  scarce  a  whisper — fell; 

We  heard  the  ?-ec^coat's  musket  click^ — and  heard  him  cry, — ("ylii  '.s  well!") 


144  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

And  here — and  there — a  twinkling  port^ — reflected — on  the  deep, — 

In  many  a  wavy  shadow — show'd  their  sullen  guns — asleep. 

Sleep  on!  thou  bloody — hireling  crew!  in  careless  slumber  lie; 

The  trench — is  growing  broad  and  deep, — the  6?-eas^-works — broad — and  high  : 

No  striplings — we, — but  bear  the  arms — th't  held  the  French — in  check, 

The  drums — th't  beat — at  Louisburg — and  thundered — at  (Quebec! 

And  thou — (whose  joromtse — is  deceit,) — no  more — thy  wo7'd — we  trust; 

Thou  butcher, — [Gage!)  thy  power — and  thee — we'll  hum,ble — in  the  dust; 

Thou  and  thy  Tory  tninisters — have  boasted — to  thy  brood, — 

"The  lintels — of  the  faithful — shall  be  sprinkled — with  our  blood!" 

But — tho'  thin  walls — those  lintels  be, — thy  zeal — is  all  in  vain  : 

A  thousand  freemen — shall  rise  up — for  every  freeman — slain; 

And  when — o'er  trampled  crowns — and  thrones — they  raise  the  mighty  shout, 

This  soil — their  Palestine  shall  be ;  their  altar — this  redoubt. 

See — how  the  morn — is  breaking, — the  red — is  in  the  sky  ; 

The  mist — is  creeping — from  the  stream — th't  floats — in  silence  by; 

The  Lindy^s  hull — looms  thro'  the  fog, — and  they — our  works — have  spied, — ■ 

For  the  ruddy  j^asA — and  round  shot — part — in  thunder — from  her  side. 

And  the  Falcon  and  the  Cerebus — make — every  bosom  thrill 

With  gun, — and  shell, — and  drutns, — and  ball, — and  boatswains^  whistle  slmll , 

But  deep — and  wider — grows  the  trench, — as  spade — and  mattock  ply, 

For — we  have  to  cope — vf^h  fearful  odds, — and  the  time — is  drawing  nigh  ! 

Up — with  the /ii?ie-tree  banner  !    Our  gallant  Prescott  stands 

Amid  the  plunging  shells — and  shot, — unA.  plants  it — with  his  hands. 

Up — with  the  shout!  for  Putnam, — comes  upon  his  reeking  bay, 

"With  bloody  spur — and  foaming  bit, — in  haste — to  join  the  fray; 

And  Pomeroy, — (with  his  swow-white  hair, — and/«ce — all  dust — and  siveaf,) 

Unscathed  by  French — or  Indian, — wears  a  youthful  glory  yet. 

But  thou, — whose  soul — is  glowing — in  the  summer — of  thy  years, 
Unvanquishable  Warren, — thoti, — (the  youngest — of  thy^}ee?*s,) — 
Wert  born, — and  bred, — and  shaped, — and  made — to  act  &patrioVs  part; 
And  dear  to  us — thy  presence  is — as  heart's  blood — to  the  heart ! 
Well  may  ye  howl, — ye  British  wolves  !  with  leaders — such  as  they 
Not  one — will  fail  to  follow — where  they — choose  to  lead  the  way. 
As  once  before, — scarce  two  months  since, — we  followed  on  your  track. 
And — with  our  rifles — marked  the  road  ye  took — in  going  back. 

Te  slew  a  sick  man — in  his  bed;  ye  slew  (with  hands  accursed) 
A  mother — nursing, — and  her  blood — fell  on  the  babe — she  nursed; 
By  their  own  doors — our  kinsme7i  fell,  and  perished — in  the  strife; 
But — as  we  hold  a  hireling's — cheap, — and  dear — a  freeman's — life, 
By  Tanner  brook  and  Lincoln  bridge,  (before  the  shut  of  sun,) 
We  took  the  recompense — we  claimed, — a  score — for  every  one  ! 

Hark !  from  the  town — a  trumpet !    The  barges — at  the  wharf 

Are  crowded — with  the  living  freight, — and  now — they  're  pushing  off: 

With  clash — and  glitter, — trump — and  drum, — in  all  its  bright  array, 

Behold  the  splendid  sacrifice — move  slowly — o'er  the  bay! 

And  still — and  still— the  barges  fill, — and  still — across  the  deep. 

Like  thunder-c\Q\x&?, — along  the  sky, — the  hostile  transports  sweep ; 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  I45 

And  noro — they  Wc  forming  at  the  Point; — 7iow — the  lines  advance: 

We  see — (beneath  the  sultry  sun) — their  polished  bayonets  glance; 

We  hear — (anear) — the  throbbing  drum, — the  bugle  challenge  ring; 

Quick  bursts — and  loud — the  flashing  cloud, — and  rolls — from  wing — to  wing ; 

But — on  the  height — our  bulwark  stands, — tremendous — in  its  gloom, — 

As  sullen — as  a  tropic  sky — and  silent — as  the  tomb. 

And  so — we  tvaited — till  we  saw, — at  scarce  ten  rifles'  length, 

The  old — vindictive  Saxon  spite, — in  all  its  stubborn  strength; 

When — sudden — flash — on  flash — around  the  jagged  rampart  burst 

From  every  gun — the  livid  light — upon  the  foe — accursed: 

Then — quailed  a  monarch's  might — before  a,  fi'ee-horn  people's  ire; 

Then — drank  the  sward — the  veteran's  life — where  swept  the  yeoman's  fire. 

Then — staggered — by  shot — we  saw  their  serried  columns  reel. 

And  fall — as  falls  the  headed  rye — before  the  reaper's  steel: 

And  the7i — anon  a  mighty  shout — th't  might — have  waked  the  dead, — 

^^Htirrahf  they  run.'  the  field — is  won/"  "  Hurrah!  the  foe  \s  fled!" 

And  every  man — has  dropped  his  gu>i — to  clutch — a  neighbor's  hand. 

As  his  heart — kept  praying — (all  the  while)  for  home — and  native  land. 

Thrice — on  that  day  we  stood  the  shock — of  thrice — a  thousand /oes, 
And  thrice — [that  day) — within  our  lines — the  shout  of  victory  rose! 
And — tho'  our  swift  fire — slackened  then, — and  reddening — in  the  skies — 
We  saw — (from  Charlesiown's  roofs — and  ivalls)  the  flamy  colu7nns  rise; 
Yet — while  w-e  had  a  cartridge  left — we  still — maintained  the  fight. 
Nor  gained  the  foe — one  foot  of  ground — upon  that  blood-stamed  height. 

What — though  for  us — no  laurels  bloom, — nor — o'er  the  nameless  brave — 

No  sculptured  trophy, — scroll, — nor  patch — records  a  warrior's  grave ! 

What — tho'  the  day — (to  us) — was  lost!    Upon  the  deathless  joa^re — 

The  everlasting  charter  stands — for  every  land — and  age! 

For  man — hath  broke — his  felon  bands, — and  cast  them — in  the  dust, 

And  claimed  his  heritage  divine, — and  justified — the  trust. 

While — thro'  his  rifled  j>7'ison-bars — the  hues  of  Freedom  pour — 

O'er  every  nation, — race, — and  clime, — on  every  sea. — and  shore. 

Such  glories — as  the  patriarch  viewed — when — 'mid  the  darkest  skies 

He  saw — above  a  ruined  world — the  Bow — of  Promise  rise ! 

ODE  TO  ELOQUENCE. 

Heard  ye — those  loud  contending  waves 

That  shook  Cecropia's  pillar'd  state; 
Saw  ye  the  mighty  from  their  graves 

Look  up,  and  tremble  at  her  fate  ? 

Who  shall  calm  the  angry  storm  ? 
Who  the  mighty  task  perform. 

And  bid  the  raging  tumult  cease? 
See — the  son  of  Hermes  rise, 
With  syren — tongue  and — speaking  eyes 

Hush  the  noise,  and  soothe  to  peace ! 
10 


146  MANUAL   OP   ELOCUTION. 

Lo!  from  the  regions  of  the  north, 
The  reddening  storm  of  battle  pours, 

Rolls  along  the  trembling  earth, 
Fastens  on  the  Olynthian  towers. 

"Where  rests  the  sword? — where  sleep  the  brave? 
Awake!  Cecropia's  ally  save 

From  the  fury  of  the  blast ; 
Burst  the  storm  on  Phocis'  walls ! 
Kise  !  or  Greece  forever  falls ; 

Up!  or  freedom  breathes  her  last !" 

The  jarring  states,  obsequious  now, — 
View  the  Patriofs  hand  on  high ; 

Thunder  gathering  on  his  brow^ 
Lightning — flashing  from  his  eye  ! 

Borne  by  the  tide  of  words  along, 

One  voice, — one  mind,  inspire  the  throng! — 

"T'  arms!  t'  arms!  t'  arms!"  thoy  cry, 
"  Grasp  the  shield, — and  draw  the  sword. 
Lead  us  to  Philippi's  lord; 

Let  us  conquer  him,  or  die  !  " 

Ah,  Eloquence !  thou  wast  undone. 
Wast  from  thy  native  country  driven, 

When  Tyranny — eclips'd  the  sim 

And  blotted  out  the  stars  of  heaven  I 

When  Liberty — from  Greece  withdrew, 
And  o'er  the  Adriatic /?ew 

To  where  the  Tiber  pours  his  ■nr^i, — 
She  struck  the  rude  Tarpeian  rode; 
Sparks — were  kindled  by  the  shock; — 

Again  thy  fires  began  to  burn ! — 

Noiv, — shining  forth,  thou  mad'st  complaint, 
The  conscript  fathers  to  thy  charms. 

Roused  the  world-bestriding  giant. 
Sinking  fast  in  Slaveiy's  arms  !— 

I  see  thee  stand  by  Freedom's  fane, 
Pouring  the  persuasive  strain, 

Giving  vast  conceptions  birth: 
Hark !  I  hear  thy  thunders  sound, 
Shake  the  Forum  round — and  round, 

Shake  the  pillars  of  the  earth ! 

First-horn  of  Liberty  divine ! 

Put  on  Religion's  bright  array: 
Speak!  and  the  starless //ravjc — shall  shine 

The  portal  of  eternal  day!  , 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  147 

Rise,  kindling  with  the  orient  beam, 
Let  Calvary's  hill  inspire  the  theme, 

Unfold  the  garments  roll'd  in  blood ! 
Oh !  touch  the  soul, — touch  all  her  chords 
With  all  the  omnipotence  of  words. 

And  point  the  way  to  heaven — to  God ! 


THE  MARSEILLES  HYMN.    DeL'Isle, 

Ye  sons — of  Freedom,  wake — to  fflory  I 

Hark!  Jiark!  whAt  my  Had  a — bid  you  rise/ 
Your  children, — reives,  and  granddres  hoary, 

Behold  their  tears, — and  hear  their  cries. 
Shall  hateful  iyranis, — {mischief  breeding, 

With  hireling  hosts, — a  ruffidu  band,) 

AffriyJit — and  desolate  the  land, 
While  pe«ce — and  liherty — lie  bleeding'? 

To  arms!  to  arms,  ye  brave! 

Th'  avenging  sword  unshcath: 
March  on,  march  on, — all  hearts  resolved 

On  victory — or  death! 

Now, — new, — the  dangerous  storm  is  rolling. 
Which  treacherous  kings,  [confederate,)  raise; 

The  dogs  of  vjor, — (let  loose,) — are  howling. 
And  lo !  OVLV  fields — and  cities — blaze ; 

And  shall  we  basely — view  the  ruin, 

While  lawless /orce, — (with  guilty  stride,) 
Spreads  desolation — -far — and  ii:idc, 

With  crimes — and  blood — his  hands  imbruing? 

To  arms!  to  arms, — ye  brave! 

The  aA'enging  sword  unshcath : 
March  on, — march  on,  all  hearts  resolved — 

On  victory — or  death  ! 

With  luxury — and  pride — surrounded, 

The  vile — insatiate  dexpofs — dare, 
(Their  thirst  oi  power — ixnd^gold — uhbounded,) — 

To  mete — and  vend — the  light — and  air. 
Like  beasts  of  burden — would  they  load  us ; 

UiVa  gods, — would  bid  their  slaves — adore; 

But  7nan — is  man, — and  who — is  more  ? 
Then — shall  they  longer — lash — and  goad  us? 

To  arms!  to  arms, — ye  brave! 

Th'  avenging  sword  unsheath : 
March  on,  march  on, — all  hearts  resolved — 

On  VICTORY — or  death  ! 


148  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

O  Liberty  !  can  man  resign  thee 

Once — having  felt  thy  generous ^ame? 

Can  dungeons, — bolts, — and  bars — confine  thee, 
Or  whips — thy  noble  sjnrit  tame  ? 

Too  long — the  world  has  wept, — bewailing 
That  false^tood's  dagger— z'j/raw^s  Avield : 
'Butfreedo7n — is  our  sword — and  shield, 

And  all — their  arts — are  uiiavuiling. 

To  ARMS !  to  AKMS,— ye  brave  ! 

Th'  avenging  sword  unsheath : 
March  ox,  march  on, — all  hearts  resolved — 

On  VICTORY — or  dcathl 

COLUMBIA.    Timothy  Dwight. 

Columbia,  Columbia,  to  glory — arise, 

The  queen  of  the  woi'ld — and  the  child  of  the  skies; 

Thy  genius  commands  thee;  with  rapture  behold, 

While  ages — on  ages — thy  splendors  unfold. 

Thy  reign  is  the  last — and  the  noblest  of  time; 

M-Ost  fruitful  thy  soil,  most  inviting — thy  clime; 

Let  the  crimes  of  the  East — ne'er  encrimson  ^Ayname; 

^Q  freedom  and  science  and  virtue  thy  fame. 

To  cnnqncst  and  slaughter — let  Euroj)e  aspire ; 
Whelm  nations — in  blood  and  wrap  cities — mfire; 
Thy  heroes — the  rights  of  mankind  shall  defend, 
And  triumph  pursue  them, — and  glory  attend. 
A  world — is  thy  realm ;  for  a  world — be  thy  laws, 
Enlarged — as  thine  empire,  and  just — as  thy  cause; 
On  Freedom's  broad  basis — thaf  empire  shall  rise, 
Extend — with  the  main  and  dissolve — with  the  shies. 

Fair  Science — her  gates — to  thy  sons  shall  unbar. 

And  the  east — see  thy  morn — hide  the  beams  of  her  star. 

New  bards — and  new  sages,  unrivaled,  shall  soar 

To  fame,  unextinguished, — when  time  is  no  more; 

To  thee,  the  last  refuge  of  virtue  designed. 

Shall  fly — from  all  nations — the  best  of  mankind; 

Here,  grateful — to  Heaven, — with  transport  shall  bring 

Their  incense, — move  fragrant — than  odors  of  spring. 

Nor  less  shall  i\\j  fair  ones — to  glory  ascend, 
And  genius — and  beauty — in  harmony  hlend; 
The  graces  oi  form  shall  awake  pure  desire. 
And  the  charms  of  the  soid — ever  cherish  the /?re; 
Their  sweetness  unmingled, — their  ■tnnnncrs  refined, 
And  m?'/?<e's bright  image  enstamp'd  on  the  mind; 
With  pence  and  soft  rapture  shall  teach  life  to  glow, 
And  light  up  a  smile — in  the  aspect  of  woe. 


MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION.  149 

HERVE  RIEL.    Bt  Robert  Browning. 

On  the  sea  and  at  the  Hogue,  sixteen  hundred  ninety-two, 
Did  the  English  fight  the  French — woe  to  France  ! 
And,  the  thirty-first  of  May,  helter-skelter  through  the  blue, 
Like  a  crowd  of  frightened  porpoises  a  shoal  of  sharks  piirsue, 
Came  crowding  ship  on  ship  to  St.  Malo  on  the  Eunce, 
"With  the  English  fleet  in  view. 

'T  was  the  squadron  that  escaped,  with  the  victor  in  full  chase ; 
First  and  foremost  of  the  drove,  in  his  great  ship,  Damfreville; 

Close  on  him  fled,  great  and  small. 

Twenty-two  good  ships  in  all ; 

And  they  signaled  to  the  place, 

"  Help  the  winners  of  a  race ! 
Get  us  guidance,  give  us  harbor,  take  us  quick — or,  quicker  still, 

Here's  the  English  can  and  will!  " 

Then  the  pilots  of  the  place  put  out  brisk  and  leaped  on  board; 

"  Whj%  what  hope  or  chance  have  ships  like  these  to  pass?"  laughed  they  : 

"  Eocks  to  starboard,  rocks  to  port,  all  the  passage  scarred  and  scored ; 

Shall  the  Formidable  here,  with  her  twelve  and  eighty  guns, 

Think  to  make  the  river-mouth  by  the  single  narrow  way, — 

Trust  to  enter  where  'tis  ticklish  for  a  craft  of  twenty  tons, 

And  with  flow  at  full  beside  ? 

Inow,  't  is  slackest  ebb  of  tide. 

Eeach  the  mooring?     Eather  say, 

AVhile  rock  stands  or  water  runs. 

Not  a  ship  will  leave  the  bay !  " 

Then  was  called  a  council  straight; 

Brief  and  bitter  the  debate: 
"Here's  the  English  at  our  heels;  would  you  have  them  take  in  tow 
All  that's  left  us  of  the  fleet,  linked  together  stern  and  bow 

For  a  prize  to  Plymouth  Sound? 

Better  run  the  ships  aground  !  " 

(Ended  Damfreville  his  speech.) 

"Not  a  minute  more  to  wait ! 

Let  the  captains  all  and  each 
Shove  ashore;  then  blow  up,  burn  the  vessels  on  the  beach  I 

France  must  undergo  her  fate." 

"  Give  the  word !  "     But  no  such  word 

"Was  ever  spoke  or  heard ; 
For  up  stood,  for  out  stepped,  for  in  struck  amid  all  these — 
A  captain  ?     A  lieutenant  ?     A  mate — first,  second,  third  ? 

No  such  man  of  mark,  and  meet 

"With  his  betters  to  compete ! 
But  a  simple  Breton  sailor,  pressed  by  Tourville  for  the  fleet — 
A  poor  coasting-pilot  he,  Herve  Eiel  the  Croisickese. 


150  MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTIOX. 

And  "What  mockery  or  malice  have  we  here?"  cries  Herve  Riel; 
•'x\-re  you  mad,  you  Malouins?     Are  you  cowards,  fools,  or  rogues? 
Talk  to  me  of  rocks  and  shoals,  me  who  took  the  soundings,  tell 
(Jn  my  fingers  every  bank,  every  shallow,  every  swell 
'Twixt  the  offing  here  and  Greve,  where  the  river  disembogues? 
Are  you  bought  by  English  gold?     Is  it  love  the  lying  's  for? 

Morn  and  eve,  night  and  day, 

Have  I  piloted  your  bay ; 
Entered  free  and  anchored  fast  at  the  foot  of  Solidor. 
Burn  the  fleet  and  ruin  Prance  ?     That  were  worse  than  fifty  Hogues ! 
Sirs,  they  know  I  speak  the  truth!     Sirs,  believe  me  there's  a  way ! 

Only  let  me  lead  the  line. 

Have  the  biggest  ship  to  steer, 

Get  this  Formidable  clear. 

Make  the  others  follow  mine. 
And  I  '11  lead  them  most  and  least  by  a  passage  I  know  well, 

Eight  to  Solidor,  past  Greve, 

And  there  lay  them  safe  and  sound; 

And  if  one  ship  misbehave— 

Keel  so  much  as  grate  the  ground — 
Wh}',  I've  nothing  but  my  life:  here's  my  head!"  cries  Herve  Riel. 

Not  a  minute  more  to  Avait. 

"Steer  us  in  then,  small  and  great! 
Take  the  helm,  lead  the  line,  save  the  squadron  1"  cried  its  chief. 

Captains,  give  the  sailor  place! 

He  is  admiral,  in  brief. 

Still  the  north  wind,  by  God's  grace. 

See  the  noble  fellow's  face 

As  the  big  ship,  with  a  bound. 

Clears  tlio  entry  like  a  hound, 
Keeps  the  passage  as  its  inch  of  way  were  the  wide  sea's  profound ! 

See,  safe  through  shoal  and  rock, 

How  they  follow  in  a  flock ! 
Not  a  ship  that  misbehaves,  not  a  keel  that  grates  the  ground, 

Not  a  spar  that  conies  to  grief! 

The  peril,  see,  is  past. 

All  are  harbored  to  the  last. 
And  just  as  Herve  Riel  hollas  "Anchor ! "  sure  as  fate, 

Up  the  English  come,  too  late. 

So  the  storm  subsides  to  calm  : 

They  see  the  green  trees  wave 

On  the  heights  o'erlooking  Greve: 

Hearts  that  bled  are  stanched  with  balm, 

"Just  our  rapture  to  enhance, 

Let  the  English  rake  the  bay. 

Gnash  their  teeth  and  glare  askance. 

As  they  cannonade  away  ! 
'Neath  rampired  Solidor  pleasant  riding  on  the  Ranee ! " 
How  hope  succeeds  despair  on  each  captain's  countenance! 


MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION.  151 

Out  burst  all  with  one  accord, 

"  This  is  paradise  for  hell ! 

Let  France,  let  France's  king 

Thank  the  man  that  did  the  thing!" 

What  a  shout,  and  all  one  word 

"  Herve  Kiel." 

As  he  stepped  in  front  once  more, 

Not  a  symptom  of  surprise 

In  the  frank  blue  Breton  eyes — 

Just  the  same  man  as  before. 

Then  said  Damfreville:   "My  friend, 
I  mast  speak  out  at  the  end, 
Though  I  find  the  speaking  hard: — 
Praise  is  deeper  than  the  lips: 
You  have  saved  the  king  his  ships, 
Tou  must  name  your  own  reward. 
'Faith,  our  sun  was  near  eclipse  ! 
Demand  whate'er  you  will, 
France  remains  your  debtor  still. 
Ask  to  heart's  content,  and  have — or  my  name's  not  Damfreville!" 

Then  a  beam  of  fun  outbroke 

On  the  bearded  mouth  that  spoke. 

As  the  honest  heart  laughed  through 

Those  frank  eyes  of  Breton  blue : 

"Since  I  needs  must  say  my  say, 

Since  on  board  the  duty's  done, 
And  from  Malo  Roads  to  Croisic  Point — what  is  it  but  a  run? — 

Since  't  is  ask  and  have,  I  may — 

Since  the  others  go  ashore — 

Come!     A  good  whole  holiday! 
Leave  to  go  and  see  mj'  wife,  whom  I  call  the  Belle  Aurore!" 
That  he  asked,  and  that  he  got — nothing  more. 

Name  and  deed  alike  are  lost: 

Not  a  pillar  nor  a  post 
In  his  Croisic  keeps  alive  the  feat  as  it  befell; 

Not  a  head  in  white  and  black 

On  a  single  tishing-smack, 
In  memory  of  the  man  but  for  whom  had  gone  to  wrack 
All  that  France  saved  from  the  fight  whence  England  bore  the  bell. 

Go  to  Paris ;  rank  on  rank 

Search  the  heroes  flung  pell-mell 

On  the  Louvre,  face  and  flank ; 
Tou  shall  look  long  enough  ere  you  come  to  Herve  Kiel. 

So,  for  better  and  for  worse, 

Herve  Riel,  accept  my  verse! 
In  my  verse,  Herve  Piicl,  do  thou  once  more 
Save  the  squadron,  honor  France,  love  thy  wife,  the  Belle  Aurore ! 


152  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The   Reverential   Style  —  True   Emphasis  —  Name   of  the   Deity  — 

Exercises. 

The  question  is  frequently  asked,  in  what  manner  should  we  read 
the  Scriptures  and  compositions  of  a  sacred  character.  As  a  general 
rule,  their  meaning  and  sentiment  must  dictate,  as  do  those  of  all 
other  compositions.  Where  the  style  is  solemn  and  grand,  the  voice, 
time,  and  movement  must  be  correspondingly  so.  The  name  of  the 
Divine  Being,  when  directly  addressed,  should  never  be  pronounced 
in  the  pitches  of  voice  used  by  the  profane  and  the  blasphemous; 
yet  many  ministers  and  preachers  of  the  Word  make  no  difference 
in  this  respect.  But  before  the  name  is  pronounced  the  voice  should 
be  fully  suspended,  and  sufficient  pause  be  given  to  allow  an  inflowing 
of  reverential  feeling.  The  voice  should  fall  at  least  from  one  to  two 
tones  lower,  as  in  parenthetical  modulations.  Yet,  instead  of  being 
spoken  more  rapidly,  it,  on  the  contrary,  should  take  a  slow  and 
tremulous  circumflex  movement;  and  this  must  not  be  affected,  but 
heartfelt. 

"  Deliver  my  soul,  0  Lord,  from  lying  lips  and  from  a  deceitful  tongue." 

"  Thy  throne,  O  God,  is  for  ever  and  ever !  The  scepter  of  thy  kingdom  is 
a  right  scepter." 

Much  difficulty  is  experienced  by  many  people  about  finding  the 
true  emphasis  of  such  clauses  as  the  following:  "I  was  created  by 
God;"  and  "by  God  and  his  holy  angels."  If  *'%  God"  is  ren- 
dered without  emphasis,  there  is  felt  a  want  of  reverence ;  if  the 
])reposition  hy  is  emphasized,  it  smacks  of  profanity;  if  again,  the 
emphasis  is  placed  on  the  name  of  God,  it  is  equally  suggestive  of 
swearing;  but  if  we  resort  to  that  slight  suspension  of  voice,  before 
spoken  of,  after  the  word  "by,"  and  pronounce  the  name  God  in  a 
grave  tone,  with  a  slight  circumflexion  of  voice,  nothing  harsh  or  out 
of  place  will  be  experienced.  "It  was  created  by — God — and  his 
Jioly  angels,"  etc.  These  are  seemingly  small  matters,  but  exceed- 
ingly important,  as  they  go  to  make  up  the  aggregate  of  truthful 
expression. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  I53 

The  following  exercises  will  be  practiced  ^\ith  direct  reference  to 
this  rest  of  voice  before  the  clauses  and  names  of  the  Deity,  and  with 
the  low,  tremulous  circumflex  which  the  pronunciation  of  the  name 
requires : 

"3 Hail  —  1  Universal  Lord!  —  3 be  bounteous  still,  and  only  good." 

"2  And  if  the  night — hath  gathered  aught  of  evil  —  3  or  concealed, — 
2  Disperse  it  now  as  light — dispels  —  ithe  dark." 

"  6  Prayer — ardent — opens  heaven  ;  lets  down  a  stream  of  glory — on  the 
consecrated  hour  of  man  —  3  in  audience  with  —  ithe  Deity." 

"  In  its  sublime  research, — philosophy 

May  measure  out  the  ocean  deep, — may  count 
The  sands  or  the  sun's  rays; — but, —  iGod, — for  thee 

There  is  no  iceight — nor  Dicasiire :  none  can  mount 
Up  to  thy  mysteries; — reason's  brightest  spark, — 

Though  kindled  by  thy  light, — in  vain  would  try 
To  trace  thy  counsels  infinite  and — dark; 

And  thought  is  lost  ere  thought  can  soar  so  high, 

Even  \\\\.Q  past  moments — in  eternity." 

But  there  are  passages  that  require  rapid  and  joyful  movements 
of  voice.  It  is  always  important,  as  has  been  before  stated,  that  the 
subject  and  sentiment  should  be  clearly  defined  in  the  mind  before 
attempting  to  give  them  forcible  expression. 

Passages  written  under  the  excitement  of  exalted  imagination, 
when  the  soul  communes  with  the  spirit  of  nature,  require  the  iden- 
tification of  one's  self  with  the  spirit  to  render  them  properly. 

The  magnificent  outburst  of  joyful  emotion  exhibited  in  the  selec- 
tion given  below  from  the  Psalms  shows  a  spirit  appreciative  of  the 
creative  forces  of  all  things,  and  if  the  student  has  not  the  power  to 
enter  this  exalted  state  he  can  not  render  the  words  of  the  great 
singer.  But  if,  with  David,  he  can  behold  the  great  mass  of  Avaters 
surging  their  vast  floods  in  the  rhythm  of  motion — mighty  waves 
lifting  their  crested  heads  in  the  sunshine,  chasing  each  other  with 
delight — all  impelled  irresistibly  onw^ard  by  that  same  power  Avhich 
inspires  us  with  life  and  impulse — then  the  imagination  can  perceive 
that  the  floods  can  clap  their  hands  and  the  hills  be  joyful  together : 

"Make  a  joyful  noise  unto  the  Lord,  all  the  earth:  make  a  loud  noise,  and 
rejoice,  and  sing  praise. 

Sing  unto  the  Lord  Avith  the  harp;  with  the  harp  and  the  voice  of  a  psalm. 

"With  trumpets  and  sound  of  cornet  make  a  joyful  noise  before — the  Lord, — 
the  King. 

Let  the  sea — roar,  and  the  fulbiess  thereof;  the  world,  and  they  that  dwell 
therein. 


154  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION". 

Let  the /ooc/s — clap  tli(;ir  haiuh:  let  the  hills — be  joyful  together 
Before — the  Lord;  for  he  comet h  U)  judge  the  e<irth:  with  7-lghteousness  shall 
he  judge  the  world,  and  the  people  with  equity."     (Psalm  xcviii,  4-9.) 

There  is  a  feeling,  whicli  quite  generally  prevails,  that  in  reading 
the  Sacred  Scriptures  or  the  Church  Ritual  elocutionary  rules  need 
not  be  observed.  This  idea  is  based  upon  the  supposition  that  all 
elocution  is  an  affected,  stilted  style  of  reading,  which  should  not  be 
applied  to  Holy  Writ.  If  this  were  so,  the  art  of  elocution  should 
certainly  not  be  thus  aj:)plied. 

Some  believe  that  the  letter  of  the  Word  is  of  little  value;  that 
the  spiritual  meaning  only  should  be  brought  out,  and  that  this 
requires  some  peculiar  style.  But  they  fail  to  inform  us  what  the 
peculiar  style  is.  These  forget  that  it  is  only  through  the  letter  that 
the  spirit  can  be  embodied,  and  through  the  letter  alone  can  Ave  give 
forth  its  true  expression.  It  would  be  a  foolish  waste  of  time  to  utter 
words  only,  if  these  could  not  be  made  the  interpreters  of  the  thoughts, 
the  affections,  the  emotions  of  the  soul. 

When  we  attend  church  for  the  sake  of  divine  worship,  we  can  but 
feel  sad  at  the  great  neglect  of  the  proper  reading  of  the  Scriptures 
and  the  church  service.  INIinisters  and  congregation  alike  seem  to  be 
unconscious  of  the  imjiortance  of  giving  their  best  efforts  in  such 
service.  The  mumbled,  hurried,  and  discordant  sounds  heard  in 
responses  are  not  worship ;  they  are  not  even  lip-service.  Without 
any  desire  to  be  censorious,  and  Avith  the  sincere  wish  that  Avhat 
purports  to  be  worship  should  be  such  in  spirit  and  in  truth,  Ave 
must  say  that  Ave  have  listened  to  responses  given  in  churches  Avhich 
struck  the  ear  more  like  a  dissatisfied  grumble  than  an  earnest,  hearty 
outgushing  of  praise  or  supplication.  It  is  not  Avell  to  cherish  the 
idea  that  this  stinted  offering  is  praise  or  serA'ice.  He  Avho  has  so 
wonderfully  constructed  the  human  voice  ought  to  receive  as  tribute 
the  higliest  outpouring  of  soul  in  sweetest  and  most  harmonious  utter- 
ances; and  they  Avho  are  devout  and  reverent  should  also  praise  in 
harmony. 

But  says  the  objector,  religious  expression  is  an  individual  thing, 
and  each  must  be  alloAved  to  give  it  utterance  in  his  OAvn  Avay.  Cer- 
tainly, but  his  Avay  should  be  a  harmonious  one,  so  long  as  harmonic 
laAVS  can  be  studied  by  all. 

Let  us  look  at  the  subject  of  collective  and  individual  Avorship. 
For  individual  Avorship  people  do  not  come  into  assemblies.  The 
ability  to  bring  one's  self  into  communion  Avith  the  Divine  Spirit  is 
one  thing,  and  the  ability  to  unite  Avith  a  number  of  persons,  giving 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  I55 

mutual  strength  and  assistance  in  coming  into  a  condition  receptive 
of  the  inflowing  of  the  Spirit,  is  quite  another  thing.  It  is  somewhat 
like  the  difference  of  tuning  one  instrument  to  harmony  in  a  certain 
key,  and  bringing  a  great  number  of  different  instruments  to  a  perfect 
accord  in  tlie  same  key. 

Individual  worship  alone  does  not  satisfy;  people  desire  to  unite 
in  prayer  and  praise.  Man  is  socially  religious  as  well  as  intellect- 
ually, scientifically,  or  musically  social.  For  tliis  reason  temples  for 
worship  and  instruction  are  reared ;  and  in  the  union  and  harmony 
of  the  entire  congregation  is  produced  the  best  state  for  the  reception 
of  divine  truths.  The  Spirit  of  the  Lord  can  only  descend  iu  the 
harmonies,  never  in  the  discords. 

If  this  individual  indifference  and  disregard  of  the  laws  of  har- 
mony and  time  were  applied  to  singing  the  h3'mns,  we  should  see  how 
ridiculous  it  is;  yet  the  reading,  the  prayer,  and  the  responses  are  just 
as  much  a  part  of  the  worship.  Let  us  tune  our  voices  in  unison ; 
get  control  of  the  letter  of  the  Word,  that  we  may  through  that 
medium  give  expression  to  the  spirit.  People  should  read  in  concert, 
sing  in  concert,  and  praise  in  concert. 

Some  persons  object  to  teaching  any  part  of  the  Bible  as  a  reading- 
lesson  ;  alleging  tliat  it  is  of  too  sacred  a  character  to  be  used  for  tlie 
purposes  of  education.  We  should  say  that  if  it  is  too  sacred  to  be 
used  in  instruction,  it  is  too  sacred  to  be  read  badly :  and  if  people 
Avere  taught  to  read  the  Bible  as  it  should  be  read,  with  true  spirit 
and  feeling,  it  would  be  better  valued  and  appreciated  than  it  is 
to-day. 

SEN^'ACIIERIB'S  RUIN.    Isaiah  xxxvi,  in-2ii;  xxxvii,  1-7,  33-:;8. 

Then  Rnbsluikeh  stood,  and  cried  with  a  loud  voice  in  the  Jews'  language, 
and  said,  Hear  ye  the  words  of  the  great  king, — the  king  of  Assyria.  Thus 
saith  the  king,  Let  not  Hrzekiah  deceive  you :  for  he  shall  not  he  ahle  to  deliver 
you.  Neither  let  Hezekiah  make  you  trust  in  the  Lord,  saying,  The  Lord  will 
surely  deliver  us :  this  city  shall  not  be  delivered  into  the  hand  of  the  king  of 
Assyria.  Hearken  not  to  Hezekiah:  for  thus  saith  the  king  of  Assyria,  Make 
an  agreement  with  me  by  a  present,  and  come  out  to  me:  and  eat  ye  everj-  one 
of  his  vine,  and  everj-  one  of  his  fig-tree,  and  drink  ye  every  one  of  the  waters 
of  his  own  cistern;  until  I  come  and  take  you  away  to  a  land  like  your  oicn 
land,  a  land  of  corn  and  vniic, — a  land  of  bread  and  vineyards.  Beware  lest 
Hezekiah  persuade  you,  saying.  The  Lord  will  deliver  us.  Hath  any  of  the  gods 
of  the  nations — delivered  kis  land — out  of  the  hand  of  the  king  of  Assyria? 
Where — are  the  gods  of  Hamoth  and  Arpad?  where  are  the  gods  of  Sephur- 
vaim?  andhave  ihey — delivered  .9rt?wfflH« — out  of  my  hands?  Who — are  they — 
among  all  the  gods  of  these  lands,  that  have  delivered  their  land  out  of  my 
hand,  that  the  Lord  should  deliver  Jerusalem  out  of  my  hand?      But  they 


156  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTIOX. 

held  their  joeace,  and  answered  him  not  a  word;  for  the  king's  commandment 
was,  saying,  Ansiver  him  not. 

Then  came  Eliakim,  (the  son  of  Hilkiah,  that  was  over  the  household,)  and 
Shebna  the  scribe,  and  Joah  (the  son  of  Asaph,)  the  recorder, — to  Hezekiah — with 
their  clothes  rent,  and  told  him — the  words  of  Rabshakeh. 

And  it  came  to  pass  when  king  Hezekiah  heard  it,  that  he  rent  his  clothes, 
and  covered  himself  with  sackcloth,  and  went  into  the  house  of  the  Lord.  And 
he  sent  Eliakim,  (who  was  over  the  household,)  and  Shebna  the  scribe,  and 
the  elders  of  i\\Q  priests,  (covered  with  sackcloth,)  unto  Isaiah  the  prophet,  (the 
son  of  Anioz.)  And  they  said  unto  him, — Thus  saith  Hezekiah,  This  day  is  a 
day  of  trouble,  and  of  rebuke,  and  of  blasphemy :  for  the  children  are  come  to 
the  birth,  and  there  is  not  strength  to  bring  forth.  It  tnay  be — the  Lord  thy 
G»d  will  hear  the  words  of  Rabshakeh,  (whom  the  king  of  Assyria,  his  master, 
hath  sent  to  reproach  the  living  God,)  and  will  reprove  the  words  which  the 
Lord  thy  God  hath  heard:  wherefore  lift  up  thy  prayer  for  the  remnant  that  is 
left.     So — the  servants  of  king  Hezekiah  came  to  Isaiah. 

And  Isaiah  said  unto  them.  Thus  shall  ye  saj'  unto  your  master,  Thus  saith 
the  Lord,  Be  not  afraid  of  the  words  that  thou  hast  heard,  wherewith  the  serv- 
ants of  the  king  of  Assyria  have  blasphemed  me.  Behold — I  will  send  a  blast 
upon  him,  and  he  shall  hear  a  rumor,  and  return  to  his  own  land;  and  I  will 
cause  him  to  fall  by  the  sword  in  his  own  land.  Therefore  thus  saith  the  Lord 
concerning  the  king  of  Assyria,  He  shall  not  come  into  this  city,  nor  shoot  an 
arrow  there,  nor  come  before  it  with  shields,  nor  cast  a  bank  against  it.  B}^  the 
way  that  he  came,  by  the  same  shall  he  return,  and  shall  not  come  into  the  city, 
saith  the  Lord.  For  I  will  defend  this  city  to  save  it  for  mine  own  sake,  and 
for  my  servant  David's  sake.  Then  the  angel  of  the  Lord  went  forth,  and 
smote  in  the  camp  of  the  Assyrians  a  hundred  and  fourscore  and  five  thousand : 
and  when  they  arose  early  in  the  morning,  behold,  they  were  all  dead  corpses. 

So  Sennacherib,  (the  king  of  Assyria,)  departed,  and  went  and  returned, 
and  dwelt  at  Nineveh.  And  it  came  to  pass,  as  he  was  worshiping  in  the  house 
of  Nisroch  his  god,  that  Adrammelech  and  Sharezer  his  sons  smote  him  with  the 
sword;  and  they  escaped  into  the  land  of  Armenia:  and  Esarhaddon  his  son 
reigned  in  his  stead. 

PAUL  AT  CESAREA.     Atts  xxv. 

Now — when  Festus  was  come  into  the  province,  (after  three  days) — he  as- 
cended from  Ccsarea  to  Jerusalem.  Then — the  high  priest — and  the  chief  of 
the  Jews  —  informed  him  against  Paul,  and  besought  him,  and  desired  favor 
against  him,  that  he  would  send  for  him  to  Jerusalem,  laying  wait — (in  the 
way) — to  kill  him.  But  Festus  answered, — that  Paul  should  be  kept  at  Ccsarea, 
and  that  he  hijnsclf — would  depart  shortly  thither.  Let  them  therefore,  said 
lie,  which  among  you  are  able,  go  down  with  me,  and  accuse  this  man, — if  there 
be  any  wickedness  in  him.  And  when  he  had  tarried  among  them  more  than 
ten  days, — he  went  down  unto  Cesarea;  and  the  next  day — (sitting  on  the 
judgment-seat) — commanded  Paul  to  be  brought.  And  when  he  was  come,  the 
Jews  —  (which  came  down  from  Jerusalem) — stood  round  about,  and  laid 
inany — and  grievous  complabits  against  Paul,  which  they  could  not  prove. 
While  he  answered  for  himself,  Neither  against  the  law  of  the  Jews,  neither 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  I57 

against  the  temple^  nor  yet  against  Ccesar, — have  I  offended  anything  at  all. 
But  Festus, — (willing  to  do  the  Jews  &  ]}leasure,)  answered  Paul, — and  said, — 
Wilt  thou  go  up  to  Jerusalem,  and  there  be  judged  of  these  things  before  me? 
Then  said  Paul, — I  stand  at  Ccesar's  judgment-seat, — where  I  ought  to  be 
judged:  to  the  Jews  have  I  done  no  wrong, — as  thou  very  well  knowest.  For 
if  I  be  an  offender,  or  have  committed  any  thing — worthy  of  death,  I  refuse  not 
to  die:  but  if  there  be  no7ie  of  these  things  (whereof  these  accuse  me,)  710  man 
may — deliver  me  unto  them.  1  appeal  unto  Ccesar.  Then  Festus,  (when  he 
had  conferred  with  the  council,) — answered.  Hast  thou  appealed  unto  Ccesar? 
unto  Caesar — shalt  thou  go. 

And  after  certain  days — King  Agrippa  and  Bernice — came  unto  Cesarea — 
to  salute  Festus.  And  when  they  had  been  there  many  days,  Festus  declared 
Paul's  cause  unto  the  king,  saying,  There  is  a  certain  man — left  in  bonds  by 
Felix:  about  whom, — (when  I  was  at  Jerusalem,,)  the  chief  priests  and  the 
elders  of  the  Jews  informed  me, — desiring  to  have  judgment  against  him.  To 
whom  I  answered, — It  is  not  the  manner  of  the  Eomans  to  deliver  any  man  to 
die,  before  that  he — (which  is  accused) — have  the  accusers — face^-to  face, — and 
have  license  to  answer  for  himself — concerning  the  crime  laid  against  him. 
Therefore, — when  the\-  were  come  hither, — (without  any  delay) — on  the  morrow 
I  sat  on  the  judgme7it-seat, — and  commanded  the  man  to  be  brought  forth. 
Against  whom — when  the  accusers  stood  up, — they  brought  none  accusation 
of  such  things  as  I  supposed:  but  had  certain  questions  against  him — of  their 
own  superstition,  and  of  one  Jesus,  which  was  dead,  whom  Paul  affirmed-^to 
be  alive.  And  because  I  doubted  of  such  manner  of  questions, — I  asked  him — 
whether  he  would  go  to  Jerusalem,  and  there  be  judged  of  these  matters.  But 
■when  Paul  had  appealed  to  be  reserved  unto  the  hearing  of  Augustus,  I  com- 
manded him  to  be  kept  till  I  might  se7id  him  to  Ctesar.  Then  Agrijypa  said 
unto  Festus, — I  would  also  hear  the  man  m,yself.  To-mor7-ow,  said  he,  thou 
shalt  hear  him. 

And  on  the  morroio, — when  Agrippa  was  come,  and  Bernice,  with  great 
pomp,  and  was  entered  into  the  place  of  heariyig,  with  the  chief  captai7is,  and 
principal  men  of  the  city,  at  Festus's  com.mandm.ent  Paul  was  brought  forth. 
And  Festus  said, — King  Agrippa,  and  all  men — which  are  here  present  with 
us,  ye  see  this  man,  about  whom — all  the  multitude  of  the  Jews  have  dealt 
with  me,  both  at  Jerusalem,  and  also  here,  crying — that  he  ought  not  to  live 
any  longer.  But  when  I  found — that  he  had  committed  nothing — worthy  of 
death,  and  that  he /m?2se(/^  hath  appealed  to  Augustus, — I  have  determined  to 
send  him.  Of  whom  I  have  no  certain  thing  to  ivrite  unto  my  lord.  "Where- 
fore— I  have  brought  him  forth  before  you,  and  specially — before  thee, — O  King 
Agrippa,  that,  after  examinatio7i  had,  I  might  have  somewhat  to  write.  For  it 
seemeth  to  me  unreasonable  to  send  a  prisoner,  and  not  withal — to  signify  the 
crimes — laid  against  him. 

PAUL  BEFORE  AGTJIPPA.    Acts  xxvi. 

Then  Agrippa — said  unto  Paid, — Thou  art  permitted — to  speak  for  thyself. 
Then — Paul  stretched  forth  the  hand, — and  ansv:ered  for  himself:  I  think  my- 
self happy,  King  Agrippa, — because  I  shall  answer  for  myself  this  day  before 
thee — touching  all  the  things — whereof  I  am  accused  of  the  Jews:  especially — 


158  MANUAL   OF  ELOCUTION. 

because  I  know  thee  to  bo  expert  in  all  customs  and  qucsiicns  which  are  among 
the  Jews :  wherefore— 1  beseech  thee — to  hear  me  patiently.  My  manner  of 
life — from  my  yuuth,  —(which  was — at  the  first — arnonj;  mine  own  nation  at 
Jerusalem,)  know  all  the  Jews;  which  knew  me  from  the  hegimniig,—  '\i  they 
would  testify, — that  after  the  most  straitcst  sect  of  our  religion — I  lived — a 
Pharisee.  And  ^luw — I  stand — and  am  judged  for  the  hope — of  the  promise — 
made  of  God  unto  our  fathers:  unto  which  promise — our  twelve  tribes,  instantly 
serving  God — day — and  night,  hope  to  come.  For  which  hope's  sake, — King 
Agrippa,  I  am  accused  of  the  Jews.  Why  should  it  be  thought — a  thing 
incredible  with  you,  that  God — should  raise  the  dead?  /verily  thought — with 
myself, — that  I  ought  to  do  viany  things — contrary  to  the  name  of  Jesus — of 
Nazareth.  "Which  thing  I  also  did — in  Jerusalem :  and  many  of  the  saints — 
did  I  shut  vip  in  prison,  having  received  authority  from  the  chief  priests ;  and 
when  they  were  put  to  death, — I  gave  my  voice  against  them.  And  I  punished 
them  oft — in  every  synagogue,  and  compelled  them  to  blaspheme ;  and  being 
exceedingly  mad  against  them,  I  persecuted  them  even  unto  sfra?ige  cities. 
"Whereupon — as  I  went  to  Damascus  with  authority  and  commissio7i  from  the 
chief  priests,  at  midday, — O  king, — I  saw — in  the  way — a  light  from  heaven, 
(above  the  brightness  of  the  sun,)  shining  round  about  me — and  them  which 
journeyed  with  me.  And  when  we  were  all  fallen  to  the  earth, — I  heard  a 
voice — speaking  unto  me,  and  saying — in  the  Hebreiv  tongue, — Saul,  Saul,  why 
persecutest  thou  me  ?  it  is  ha?'d  for  thee — to  kick  against  the  pricks.  And  I 
said, — "Who  art  thou.  Lord  ?  And  he  said,  I  am  Jesus — whom  thovi  persecutest. 
But  rise,  and  stand  upon  thy  feet:  for  I  have  appeared  unto  thee  for  this  pur- 
pose, to  make  thee  a  minister — and  a  witness — both  of  these  things — Avhich  thou 
hast  seen, — and  of  those  things — in  the  which  I  will  appear  unto  thee;  deliver- 
ing thee  from  the  people,  and  from  the  Gentiles,  unto  whom  now  I  send  thee, 
to  open  their  eyes, — and  to  turn  them  from  darkness — to  light, — and  from  the 
power  of  Satan — unto  God, — that  they  may  receive  forgiveness  of  sins, — and 
inheritance  among  them  which  are  sanctified  by  faith — that  is  in  m,e.  "Where- 
upon,— O  King  Agrippa,  I  was  not  disobedient — unto  the  heavenly  vision:  but 
showed j(??'s;^ — unto  them  of  Damascus,  and  at  Jerusalem,  and  throughout  all  the 
coasts  of  Judea,  and  then  to  the  Gentiles,  that  they  should  repent  and  turn  to 
God,  and  do  works  meet  for  repentance.  For  tJiese  causes — the  Jews  caught  me 
in  the  temple,  and  went  about  to  kill  me.  Having  therefore — obtained  help 
of  God,  I  continue — unto  this  day,  witnessing  both  to  small  and  great,  saying 
none  other  things  than  those  which  the  proj^hets  and  Moses — did  say  should 
come :  that  Christ  should  suffer,  and  that  he  should  be  the  first  that  should  rise 
from  the  dead,  and  should  show  light  unto  the  people  and  to  the  Gentiles. 

And  as  he  thus  spake  for  himself, — Festus  said — with  a  loud  voice, — Paid, 
thou  art  beside  thyself;  much  learning — doth  make  thee  mad.  But  he  said,  I  am 
not  mad,  most  noble  Fostus;  but  speak  forth  the  words  of  truth  and  soberness. 
For  the  king  knoweth  of  these  things, — before  whom  also  I  speak  freely:  for  I 
am  persuaded — that  none  of  these  things — are  hidden  from  him;  for  this  thing 
was  not  done  in  a  coi-ner.  King  Agrippa, — believest  thou  the  prophets?  I 
know  that  thou  believest.  Then  Agrippa — said  unto  Paid, — Almost — thou  per- 
suadest  me  to  be  a  CItristian.  And  Paul  said,  I  would  to  God,  that  not  only 
thou,  but  also  all  that  hoar  me  this  day,  were  both  almost, — and  altogether  such 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTIOX.  I59 

as  /am, — except  these  bonds.  And  when  he  had  thus  spoken,  the  ];ing  rose  tip, 
and  the  ffovernor,  and  liendce,  and  tliey  that  sat  with  them :  and  when  tliey 
were  gone  axide,  they  talked  between  ihetnselves, — saying.  This  man  doeth 
nothing  worthy  of  death — or  of  bonds.  Then  said  Agr'ippa — unto  Festus,  This 
man  might  have  been  set  at  liberty,  if  he  had  not  appealed  unto  Cuesar. 

DESTRUCTION  OF  SEJSNACHERIB.    Byuon. 

The  Assyrian  came  down  like  a  wolf — on  the  fold. 
And  his  cohorts — wei'c  gleaming — in  purple  and  gold; 
And  the  sheen  of  his  spears — was  like  stars — on  the  sea 
"Where  the  blue  wave — rolls  nightly  on  deep  Galilee. 

Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest — when  Summer  is  green, 
That  host, — with  their  banners, — at  sunset  were  seen ; 
Like  the  leaves  of  the /o?'cs^ — when  Autumn  hath  blown, 
That  host, — on  the  morrow, — lay — withered  and  strown. 

For  the  Angel  of  Death — spread  his  wings  on  th'  blast, 
And  breathed  in  the  face  of  the  foe  as  he  passed ; 
And  the  eyes  of  the  sleepers — waked  deadly  and  chill, 
And  their  hearts — but  once  heaved, — and  forever  were  still. 

And  there — lay  the  steed, — with  his  nostrils  all  wide. 
But  through  them — there  rolVd  not  the  breath  of  his  pride; 
And  the  foam  of  his  gasping — lay  white  on  the  turf, 
And  cold — as  the  spray  of  the  rock-beating  surf. 

And  there — lay  the  rider,  distorted  and^jf/^e, 
"With  the  dew  on  his  brow  and  the  rust  on  his  mail; 
And  the  tents  were  all  silent,  the  banners — alone, 
The  lances — unUftcd,  the  trianpets — unblown. 

And  the  widows  o?  Ashicr — are  loud  in  their  wail; 
And  the  idols  are  broke — in  the  temple  of  Baal; 
And  the  might  of  the  Gentiles,  itnsmote  by  the  sword. 
Hath  melted — like  snotv  in  the  glance  of  the  Lord. 

THE  CONSTANCY  OF  THE  JEWS  IN  CAPTIVITY.     Psaim  cxxxvii. 

By  the  rivers  of  Bab-y-lon,  there — we  sat  doivn, — j^ea, — we  wejit,  when  we 
remembered  Zion. 

We  hanged  our  harps — upon  the  wiUoics — in  the  midst  thereof. 

For  there — tliey  (that  carried  us  away  cajitive)  required  of  us  a  song ;  and  they 
that  wasted  us — required  of  us  mirth,  saying,  Sing  us — one  of  the  songs  of  Zion. 

How  shall  we — sing  the  Lord^s  song — in  a  strange  land? 

If  I  forget  thee, — ^O  Jerusaletn,  let  my  right  hand — forget  her  cunning. 

If  I  do  not  remember  thee, — let  my  tongue  cleave  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth ; 
if  I  prefer  not  Jerusalem — above  my  chief  joy. 

Remember, — 0  Loi'd, — the  children  of  Edom — in  the  day  of  Jerusalem ; — 
who  said,  Baze  it,  eaze  it,  even  to  the  foundation  thereof. 

O  daughter — of  Bab-y-lon,  who  «r<  to  be  destroyed;  happy  shall  he  be  that 
rewardeth  thee  as  thou  hast  served — ns. 

Happy  shall  he  be,  that  taketh — and  dasheth  thy  Utile  ones  against  the  stones. 


160  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

CONFIDENCE  IN  GOD'S  CARE.    Psalm  xxiir. 

The  Lord  is  my  shepherd ;  I  shall  not  want. 

He  maketh  me  to  lie  down — in  green  pastures :  he  leadeth  me — beside  the 
stdl  waters. 

He  restoreth  my  soul:  he  leadeth  me — in  the  paths  of  righteousyiess  for  his 
name's  sake. 

Yea,  though  I  walk — through  the  valley — of  the  shadow  of  death,  I  will 
fear  no  evil. :  for  thou  art  with  me ;  thy  rod — and  thy  staff  they  comfort  me. 

Thou  preparest  a  table  before  me — in  the  presence  of  mine  enemies :  thou 
anointest  my  head  with  oil;  my  cup — runneth  over. 

Surely — goodness  and  mercy  shall  follow  me  all  the  days  of  my  life:  and  I 
will  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord — for  ever. 

GOD'S  DOMINION  IN  THE  WORLD.    Psalm  xxiv. 

The  earth — is  the  Lord  's,  and  the  fullness  thereof;  the  world, — and  they  that 
dwell  therein. 

For  he  hath  founded  it  upon  the  seers,  and  established  it  upon  the  floods. 

Who  shall  ascend  into  the  hill  of  the  Lord?  or  who  shall  stand — in  his 
holy  place  ? 

He  that  hath  clean  hands,  and  &  pure  heart;  who  hath  not  lifted  up  his  soul 
unto  vanity, — nor  sworn  deceitfully. 

He  shall  receive  the  blessing  from  the  Lord,  and  righteousness — from  the  God 
of  his  salvation. 

This  is  the  generation  of  them  that  seek  him,  that  seek  thy  face,  O  Jacob. 
Selah. 

Lift  up  your  heads,  O  ye  gates !  and  be  ye  lifted  up,  ye  everlasting  doors ; 
and  the  King  of  glory  shall  come  in. 

Who  is  this  King  of  glory  ?  The  Lo7-d  strong  and  mighty,  the  Lo7-d — mighty 
in  battle. 

Lift  up  your  heads,  O  ye  gates ;  even  lift  them  up,  ye  everlasting  doors;  and 
the  King — of  glory  shall  come  in. 

CHRISTMAS  CAROL.    E.  H.  Sears. 

It  ca,me — upon  a  midnight  clear, 

That  glorious  song  of  old, 
From  angels — bending  near  the  earth — 

To  touch  their  harps  of  gold : — 
^^Peace  on  the  earth, — good-will  to  men 

From  heaven's  all-gracious  King ;" — 
The  world  in  solemn  stillness — lay 

To  hear  the  angels — sing. 

Still  through  the  cloven  skies  they  come 

With  peaceful  wings  unfurled  ; 
And  still — their  heavenly — music— floats 

O'er  all  the  weary  world; 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  161 

Above  its  sad — and  lowly — plains 

They  bend  on  hov'ring  wing, 
And  ever  o'er  the  Babel — sounds 

The  blessed  angels  sing. 

But  with  the  woes  of  sin  and  si-rife 

The  world  hath  suffered  long ; 
Beneath  the  angel  strain  have  rolled— 

Two  thousand  years  of  wrong. 
And  man — at  war  with  man, — hears  not 

The  love-song  which  they  bring ; — 
Oh  I  htish  the  noise, — ye  men  of  strife, 

And  hear  the  angels  sing. 

And  ye, — beneath  life's — crushing  load, — 

Whose  forms  are  bending  low. 
Who  toil  along  the  climbing  way 

With  painful  steps  and  slow, 
Look  now  !  for  glad  and  golden  hours 

Come  swiftly  on  the  wing ; — 
Oh !   rest  beside  the  weary  road. 

And  hear  the  atigels  sing. 

For  lo,  the  days  are  hastening  on, 

'Ry  prophet  h&vds  foretold, 
When  with  the  ever-circling  years 

Comes  round  the  age  of  gold; 
When  peace  shall  over  all  the  earth 

Its  ancient  splendors  fling. 
And  the  whole  world  send  back  the  song 

Which  now  the  angels  sing. 

AN  EXHORTATION  TO  PRAISE  GOD.    Psalm  xcviii. 

Oh,  sing  unto  the  Lord — a  neio  song ;  for  he  hath  done  marvelous  things : 
his  right  hand,  and  his  holy  arm,  hath  gotten  him  the  victory. 

The  Lord  hath  made  known  his  salvation :  his  righteousness  hath  he  openly 
showed — in  the  sight  of  the  heathen. 

He  hath  remembered  his  mercy  and  his  truth  toward  the  house  of  Israel : 
all  the  ends  of  the  earth — have  seen  the  salvation  of  our  God. 

Make  a  joyful  7ioise — unto  the  Lord,  all  the  earth :  make  a  loud  noise,  and 
i'ejoice,  and  sing  praise. 

Sing  unto  the  Lord  with  the  harp;  with  the  harp,  and  the  voice  of  a  psalm. 

With    trumpets — and    sound    of  cornet   make   a   joyful    noise   before   the 
Lord, — the  King. 

Let  the  sea — 7-oar,  and  the  fullness  thereof;  the  world,  and  they  that  dwell 
therein. 

Let  the  -floods  clap  their  hands:  let  the  hills  "be  joyful  together 

Before  the  Lord ;  for  he  cometh  to  jvidge  the  ea7'th :  with  righteousness  shall 
he  judge  the  world,  and  the  people  with  equity. 

11 


162  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

THE  LORD'S  RESURRECTION. 

Angel,  roll  the  rock  away ! 
Death, — yield  up  thy  mighty  jorey/ 
See !  he  rises  from  the  tomb, 
Glowing  in  immortal — bloom. 

'T  is  the  Savior !  angels, — raise — 
Fame^s  eternal  trump  of  praise! 
Let  the  worlds  remotest  bound 
Hear — the  joy-inspiring  sound ! 

Shout, — ye  saints,  in  rapt'rous  song  I 
Let  the  strains  be  sweet — and — strong! 
-  Hail  the  rising  God,  this  morn, 

From  his  sepulcher — new-born  I 

Powers  of  heaven, — seraphic  choirs, — 
Sing, — and  strike  your  sounding  lyres! 
Sons  of  men,  in  humble  strain. 
Sing  your  mighty  Savior's — reign  ! 
Ev'ry  note  with — wonder  swell ! — 
Sin  o'erthrown, — and  captive — hell! 
Where  is  helVs  once  dreaded  king  ? 
Where,  O  death !  thy  mortal  sting  ? 

CREATION  PROVES  THE  EXISTENCE  OF  GOD.    L.  M.  Double. 

The  spacious  firmament  on  high, 

And  all  the  blue  ethereal  sky, 

And  spangled  heavens,  a  shining  frame, 

Their  Great  Original  proclaim. 

Th'  unwearied  sun,  from  day  to  day. 

Does  his  Creator's  power  display, 

And  publishes  to  every  land 

The  work  of  an  Almighty  Hand. 

Soon  as  the  evening  shades  prevail, 
The  moon  takes  up  the  Avondrous  tale, 
And  nightly  to  the  list'ning  earth 
Kepeats  the  story  of  her  birth ; 
"While  all  the  stars  that  round  her  burn, 
And  all  the  planets  in  their  turn, 
Confirm  the  tidings  as  they  roll. 
And  spread  the  truth  from  pole  to  pole. 

What  though,  in  solemn  silence,  all 
Move  round  the  dark  terrestrial  ball; 
What  though  no  real  voice  or  sound 
Amid  their  radiant  orbs  be  found ; 
In  reason's  ear  they  all  rejoice. 
And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice, 
Forever  singing,  as  they  shine, 
The  Hand  that  made  us  is  Divine  I 


MAJJUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  I63 

THE  LIVING  WATERa 

See — from  Zion's  sacred  mountain 

Streams  of  living — water  flow ! 
God  has  open'd  there — a  fountain  : 

This  supplies  the  plains  below. 
They  are  blessed 

Who  its  sovereign — virtues  know. 

Through  ten  thousand  channels  flowing, 

Streams — of  mercy — find  their  way; 
lAie  and  health  and  joy  bestowing. 

They  the  Savior's  love  display. 
O  ye — nations, 

Hail  the  long-expected  day ! 

Gladden'd  by  the  fmving  treasure, — 

All — enriching  as  it  goes, 
Lo !  the  desert  smiles — with  pleasure, 

Buds  and  blossoms  as  the  7'05e; 
Ev'ry  object 

Sings  {or  joy — where'er  it  flows. 

TVees  of  life — the  banks  adorning, — 

Yield  their  fruit  to  all  around. 
They  who  eat — are  saved  from  mourning ; — 

Pleasures  spring  and  hopes  abound : 
Fair  their  portion ! 

Endless  life  with  glory  crown' d. 

THE  MORNING  DAWNS. 

The  morning  dawns :  celestial  light 
Dispels  the  gloomy  shades  of  night: 
Truth  rears  her  standard  once  again, 
And  love, — celestial  love,  shall  reign. 

The  Heavenly — Sun,  the  Lord  our  God, 
Beams  his  refulgent  rays  abroad : 
He  comes  to  bless  the  humble  soid. 
And  spread  his  truth — from  pole — to  pole. 

Now  nations  barb'rous,  rude,  and  blind, 
In  Jesus  shall  salvation  find : 
Idols  before  his  name  shaW  fall. 
And  he  alone  be — Lord  of  all. 

Thus — ev'ry  land  and  clime  shall  hear 
The  Lord  is  God, — his  name  revere ; 
From  sin,  and  death,  and  darkness  rise, 
And  join  the  concert  of  the  skies. 


164  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

THE  HEAVENLY  CANAAN.    Watts. 
There  is  a  land — of  pure  delight, 

"Where  saints — immortal — reign  I 
Eternal  day  excludes  the  night, 

And  pleasures — banish  pain. 

There — everlasting  spring  abides, 
And  never-fading  powers; 

Death,  (like  a  narrow  sea,)  divides 
This  heavenly  land  from  ours. 

Sweet  yields, — beyond  the  swelling  flood, 
Stand  dressed — in  living  ^rree^i; 

So  to  the  Jews  fair  Canaan — stood, 
While  Jordan — rolled  between. 

But  timorous  mortals  start — and  shrink 

To  cross  this  narrow  sea ; 
And  linger, — trembling  on  the  brink, 

And /ear  to  launch  away. 

Oh !  could  we  make  our  doubts  remove 
Those  gloomy  doubts  that  rise. 

And  see  the  Canaan  that  we  love 
With  unbeclouded  eyes ; — 

Could  we — but  climb  where  Moses  stood, 
And  view  the  landscape  o'er, 

Not  Jordan^ s  stream — nor  death's  cold  flood 
Should  fright  us  from  the  shore. 

TELL  ME,  YE  WINGED  WINDS.    Chables  Mackay. 

Tell  me, — ye  winged  winds, 

That  round  my  pathway  roar, 
Do  you  not  know  some  spot 

Where  tnortals — weep  no  more? 
Some  lone — and  pleasant — dell, 

Some  valley — in  the  west. 
Where, — free  from  toil — and  pain, 

The  weary  soul  may  rest? 
The  loud  wind  softened  to  a  whisper  low, 
And  sighed — for  pity  as  it  whispered — ^^Nol" 
Tell  me, — thou  mighty — deep. 

Whose  billows  round  me — play, 
Know'st  thou  some  favored  spot, 

Some  island  far  away. 
Where  weary  ma7i  may  find 

The  bliss — for  which  he  sighs, 
Where  sorrow  never — lives 

And  friendship  never  dies  ? 
The  loud  waves, — rolling  in  perpetual  flow. 
Stopped  for  a  while,  and  sighed  to  answer — "iVio/ 


MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION.  165 

And  thou, — serenest  moon, 
That  with  such  holy /ace 
Dost  look  upon  the  earth, 

Asleep — in  nighVs  embrace, 
Tell  me,  in  all  thy  round, 

Hast  thou  not  seen  some  spot 
Where  miserable — man 
Might  find  a  happier — lot  ? 
Behind  a  cloud  the  moon  withdrew  in  woe. 
And  a  voice,  sweet  but  sad,  responded — "No I" 
Tell  me, — my  secret  soul. 

Oh !  tell  me, — Hope  and  Faith, 
Is  there  no  resting-pl&ce 

From  sorrow, — sin, — and  death  f 
Is  there  no  happy  spot 

"Where  mortals  may  be  blest, 
Where  grief  may  find  a  babn 
And  weariness  a  rest  ? 
Faith, — Hope,  and  Love, — best  boons  to  mortals  given, — 
Waved  their  bright  wings,  and  whispered — "Ves! — in  heaven!" 

THE  EXCELLENCE  OF  GOD'S  LAW.    Psalm  six. 

The  heavens — declare  the  glorj/  of  God ;  and  the  firmament  showeth  his 
handiwork. 

Day — unto  day — uttereth  speech,  and  night — unto  night — showeth  knowledge. 

There  is  no  speech — nor  language  where  their  voice  is  not  heard. 

Their  line — is  gone  out  through  all  the  earth, — and  their  words  to  the  end 
of  the  world.     In  them — hath  he  set  a  tabertiacle  for  the  sun. 

Which  is  as  a  bridegroom,  coming  out  of  his  chamber,  and  rejoiceth  (as  a 
.strong  7nan)  to  run  a  race. 

His  going  forth — is  from  the  end  of  the  heaven,  and  his  circuit — unto  the 
ends  of  it;  and  there  is  nothing  hid  from  the  heat  thereof. 

The  law  of  the  Lord  is  perfect,  converting  the  soul:  the  testimony  of  the 
Lord  is  sui'e,  making  wise — the  simple. 

The  statutes  of  the  Lord — are  right,  rejoicing  the  heart:  the  commandment 
of  the  Lord — is  pure,  enlightening  the  eyes. 

The  fear  of  the  Lord — is  clean,  enduring  for  ever :  the  judgments  of  the 
Lord — are  true  and  righteous  altogether. 

More  to  be  desired  are  they — than  gold,  yea,  than  mwch fine  gold:  sweeter 
also — than  honey — and  the  honey-comb. 

Moreover — by  them,  is  thy  servant  warned:  and  in  keeping  of  them  there  is 
great  reward. 

Who  can  understand  his  errors  f  cleanse  thou  me — from  secret  faults. 

Keep  back  thy  servant  also — from  presumptuous  sins;  let  them  not  have 
dominion  over  me :  then — shall  I  be  upright,  and  I  shall  be  huiocent  from  the 
great  transgression. 

Let  the  words — of  my  mouth,  and  the  meditation — of  my  heart  be  accept- 
able in  thy  sight,  0  Lord,  my  strength,  and  my  redeemer. 


1^  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

MY  PSALM.    John  G.  Whittiee. 

I  mourn  no  more  my  vanished  years; 

Beneath  a  tender  rain, 
An  April  rain  of  smiles  and  tears, 

My  heart  is  young  again. 

The  west  winds  blow,  and,  singing  low, 
I  hear  the  glad  streams  run; 

The  windows  of  my  soul  I  throw 
Wide  open  to  the  sun. 

No  longer  forward  nor  behind 

I  look  in  hope  and  fear; 
But,  grateful,  take  the  good  I  find, 

The  best  of  now  and  here. 

I  plow  no  more  a  desert  land 
To  harvest  weed  and  tare; 

The  manna  dropping  from  God's  hand 
Rebukes  my  painful  care. 

I  break  my  pilgrim  staff,  I  lay 

Aside  the  toiling  oar; 
The  angel  sought  so  far  away 

I  welcome  at  my  door. 

The  airs  of  spring  may  never  play 

Among  the  ripening  corn. 
Nor  freshness  of  the  flowers  of  May 

Blow  through  the  autumn  morn; 
Yet  shall  the  blue-eyed  gentian  look 

Through  fringed  lids  to  heaven, 
And  the  pale  aster  in  the  brook 

Shall  see  its  image  given. 
The  woods  shall  wear  their  robes  of  praise, 

The  south  wind  softly  sigh, 
And  sweet,  calm  days  in  golden  haze 

Melt  down  the  amber  sky. 
Not  less  shall  manly  deed  and  word 

Rebuke  an  age  of  wrong ; 
The  graven  flowers  that  wreathe  the  sword 

Make  not  the  blade  less  strong. 
But  smiting  hands  shall  learn  to  heal, 

To  build  as  to  destroy ; 
Nor  less  my  heart  for  others  feel 

That  I  the  more  enjoy. 
All  as  God  wills,  who  wisely  heeds 

To  give  or  to  withhold, 
And  knoweth  more  of  all  my  needs 

Than  all  my  prayers  have  told  I 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  167 

Enough  that  blessings  undeserved 

Have  marked  my  erring  traclv — 
That  wheresoe'er  my  feet  have  swerved 

His  chastening  turned  me  hack. 

That  more  and  more  a  Providence 

Of  love  is  understood, 
Making  the  springs  of  time  and  sense 

Sweet  with  eternal  good. 

That  death  seems  but  a  covered  way 

Which  opens  into  light, 
Wherein  no  blinded  child  can  stray 

Beyond  the  Father's  sight. 

That  care  and  trial  seem  at  last, 

Through  memorj-'s  sunset  air, 
Like  mountain  ranges  overpast, 

In  purple  distance  fair. 

That  all  the  jarring  notes  of  life 

Seem  blending  in  a  psalm, 
And  all  the  angles  of  its  strife 

Slow  rounding  into  calm. 

And  so  the  shadows  fall  apart, 

And  so  the  west  winds  play ; 
And  all  the  windows  of  my  heart 

I  open  to  the  day. 

CONFIDENCE  IN  GOD'S  PROTECTION.    Psaim  xxvn. 

The  Lord — is  my  light — and  my  salvation;  whom — shall  I  fear?  the  Lord  is 
the  strength  of  my  Life;  of  whom  shall  I  be  afraid? 

When  the  wicked, — even  mine  enemies,  and  my  foes, — came  upon  me — to  eat 
up  my  flesh,  they  stumbled  and.  fell. 

Though  a  host  should  encamp  against  me,  my  ?ienrt  shall  not  fear;  though 
war — should  rise  against  me, — in  this  will  I  be  cottfident. 

One  thing  have  I  desired  of  the  Lord,  that — will  I  seek  after;  that  I  may 
dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord — all  the  days  of  life,  to  behold  the  beauty  of  the 
Lord,  and  to  inquire  in  his  temple. 

For  in  the  time  of  trouble, — he  shall  hide  me  in  his  pavilion:  in  the  secret 
of  his  tabernacle  shall  he  hide  mc;  he  shall  set  me  up  upon  a  rock. 

And  noio  shall  mine  head  be  lifted  up — above  mine  enemies  round  about  me : 
therefore  will  I  offer  in  his  tabernacle  sacrifices  of  joy ;  I  will  sing,  yea,  I  will 
sing  praises  unto  the  Lord. 

Hear, — O  Lord,  when  1  cry  with  my  voice :  have  mercy  also  upon  me,  and 
answer  me. 

When  thou  saidst,  Seek  ye  my  face;  my  heart — said  unto  thee.  Thy  f&ce, 
Lord,  will  I  seek. 

Hide  not  thj'  face  far  from  me;  put  not  thy  servant  away  in  anger:  thou 
hast  been  my  help ;  leave  me  not,  neither  forsake  me,  0  God  of  my  salvation. 


168  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

When  my  father  and  my  mother  forsake  me,  then  the  Lord  will  take  me  up. 

Teach  me  thy  way,  O  Lord,  and  lead  me  in  a  plain  path,  because  of  mine 
enemies. 

Deliver  me  not  over — unto  the  will  of  mine  enemies:  for  false  'witnesses  are 
risen  up  against  me,  and  such  as  breathe  out  cruelty. 

I  had  fainted,  unless  I  had  believed  to  see  the  goodness  of  the  Lord — in  the 
land  of  the  living. 

Wait — on  the  Lord:  be  of  good  courage,  and  he — shall  strengthen  thine 
heart :  wait,  I  say,  on  the  Lord. 

THE  DYING  CHRISTIAN  TO  HIS  SOUL. 

Vital  spark — of  heavenly  ^ame. 
Quit,  oh,  quit — this  mortal  frame; 
Trembling, — hoping, — lingering, — flying^ 
Oh,  the  pain, — the  bliss, — of  dying! 
Cease,  fond  nature, — cease  thy  strife^ 
And  let  me  languish — into  life. 

Hark ! — they  whisper ;  angels  say, 
"Sister  spirit, — come  away  I" 
What  is  this — absorbs  me  quite, — 
Steals  my  senses, — shuts  my  sight, 
Drowns  my  spirit, — draws  my  breath  ? 
Tell  me,  my  soul'  can  this  be  death  ? 

The  world  recedes;  it  disappears ; 
Heaven — opens  on  my  eyes ;  my  ears — 

With  sounds  serapAic  ring: — 
Lend,  lend  your  wings  I  I  mount  1  \flyi 
"  O  Grave,  where — is  thy  victory  ? 

O  Death,  where — is  thy  sting  f 

CHRIST  IN  THE  TEMPEST.    J.  G.  WHirTiEB. 

Storm — on  the  heaving  waters!    The  vast  sky — 
Is  stooping — with  its  thunder.     Cloud — on  cloud 
Rolls  heavily — in  the  darkness,  like  a  shroud — 

Shaken  by  midnight's  Angel — from  on  high; 

Through  the  thick  sea-mist,  faintly — and  afar, 

Chorazin's  watch-light — glimmers  like  a  star, 

And  (^mometitly)  the  ghastly  cloud-^res — play 

On  the  dark  sea-wall  of  Capernaum' s  bay; 

And  tower — and  turret — into  light  spring  forth, 

Like  specters — starting  from  the  storm-swept  earth; 

And  vast — and  awful.  Tabor's  mountain  form, 

Its  Titan  forehead — (naked  to  the  storm,) 

Totvers — for  one  instant, — ftdl — and  clear, — and  then — 

Blends  with  the  blackness — and  the  cloud  again. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  169 

And.  it  \s  very  terrible  t    The  roar — 

Ascendeth  unto  heaven,  and  thunders  back, 

Like  the  response  of  demons, — from  the  black 
Rifts — of  the  hanging  tempests, — yawning  o'er- 

The  wild  waves — in  their  torment.     Hark  ! — the  cry — 
Of  the  strong  tnan — in  his  peril,  piercing  through 

The  uproar  of  the  waters — and  the  sky, 
As  the  rent  bark — one  moment — rides  to  view — 
On  the  tall  billows, — with  the  tlnmder-cXondi 
Closing  aroimd, — above  her,  like  a  shroud. 

He  stood  upon  the  reeling  deck, — His/orm 

Made  visible — by  the  lightning,  and  His  brow 
Pale,  and  uncovered — to  the  rushing  storm., 

Told  of  a  triumph — man — may  never  know, — 
Power — undcrived — and  mighty, — '■'■Peace, — be  still!" 

The  great  waves — heard  Him, — and  the  storm's  loud  tone 
Went  moaning — into  silence, — at  His  will; 

And  the  thick  clouds, — where  yet  the  lightning  shone, 
And  slept  the  latent  thunder,  rolled  away 

Until  no  trace  of  tempest — lurked  behhid, 

Changing, — upon  the  pinions  of  the  wind, 
To  stormless  wanderers, — beautiful — and  gay. 

Dread  Ruler — of  the  tempest!  thou — before 

Whose  presence — boweth  the  uprisen  storm, — 
To  whom  the  waves  do  homage — round  the  shore 

Of  many  an  island's  empire ! — if  the  form 
Of  frail  dust — beneath  thine  eye  may  claim 

Thy  Infinite  regard, — oh,  breathe  upon 
The  storm — and  darkness — of  man's  soul — the  sam^ 
Quiet — and  peace — and  humbleness  which  came 

O'er  the  roused  waters,  where  thy  voice  had  gone, — 
A  minister  of  power, — to  conquer — in  thy  name. 

"  STILL  WITH  THEE."    Mrs.  H.  B.  Stowe. 

Still,  still  with  thee,  when  purple  morning  breaketh; 

When  the  bird  waketh  and  the  shadows  flee ; 
Fairer  than  morning,  lovelier  than  the  daylight, 

Dawns  the  sweet  consciousness,  /  am  ivith  thee. 

Alone  with  thee  amid  the  mystic  shadows, 

The  solemn  hush  of  nature  newly  born ; 
Alone  with  thee  in  breathless  adoration. 

In  the  calm  dew  and  freshness  of  the  morn. 

As  in  the  dawning,  o'er  the  breathless  ocean, 

The  image  of  the  morning  star  doth  rest, 
So  in  this  stillness  thou  beht)ldest  only 

Thine  image  in  the  waters  of  my  breast. 


170  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

When  sinks  the  soul,  subdued  by  toil,  to  slumber, 
Its  closing  eye  looks  up  to  thee  in  prayer ; 

Sweet  the  repose  beneath  thy  wings  o'ershading : 
But  sweeter  still  to  wake,  and  find  thee  there. 

So  shall  it  be  at  last  in  that  bright  morning 
"When  the  soul  waketh  and  life's  shadows  flee. 

Oh,  in  that  hour,  fairer  than  daylight  dawning, 
Shall  rise  the  glorious  thought,  I  am  with  thee! 

WHO  BY  SEARCHING  CAN  FIND  OUT  GOD  ?    E.  Scuddee. 

I  can  not  find  thee.     Still  on  restless  pinion 
My  spirit  beats  the  void  where  thou  dost  dwell. 

I  wander  lost  through  all  thy  vast  dominion, 
And  shrink  beneath  thy  light  ineffable. 

I  can  not  find  thee.     Even  when  most  adoring, 
Before  thy  throne  I  bend  in  lowliest  prayer, 

Bej'ond  these  bounds  of  thought  my  thought  upsoaring. 
From  furthest  quest  comes  back, — thou  art  not  there. 

Yet  high  above  the  limits  of  my  seeing. 
And  folded  far  within  the  inmost  heart, 

And  deep  below  the  deeps  of  conscious  being, 
Thy  splendor  shineth:  there,  O  God!  thou  art. 

I  can  not  lose  thee.     Still  in  thee  abiding. 
The  end  is  clear,  how  wide  soe'er  I  roam; 

The  law  that  holds  the  worlds  my  steps  is  guiding, 
And  I  must  rest  at  last  in  thee,  my  home. 

THE  LEPER.    N.  P.  Willis. 

"Boom — for  the  leper  I  room!"     And  as  he  came 
The  cry  passed  on — "  Room  for  the  leper !  room  I " 

And  aside  they  stood — 
Matron — and  child — and  pitiless  m.anhood, — all 
Who  met  him  on  his  way,  and  let  him  pafis. 
And  onward — through  the  open  gate  he  came, 
A  leper,  with  the  ashes — on  his  brow. 
Sackcloth — about  his  loins,  and  on  his  lip 
A  covering, — stepping  painfully — and  slow^ 
And  with  a  difficult  utterance,  like  one 
Whose  heart — is  with  an  iron  nerve  put  down, 
Crying,  "  Unclean  !  unclean  ! ' ' 

'T  was  now  the  Jirst — 
Of  the  Judean  autumn, — and  the  leaves, 
Whose  shadows — lay  so  still — upon  his  path, 
Had  put  their  beauty  forth — beneath  the  eye 
Of  Judah's  loftiest  noble.     He  was  young 
And  eminently  beautiful, — and  life 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  17I 

Mantled — in  eloquent /wWness — on  his  lip, 

And  sparkled — in  his  glance ;  and  in  his  mien — 

There  was  a  gracious  pride — that  every  eye 

Followed  with  benisons ;  and  this — was  he! 

With  the  soft  airs  of  summer — there  had  come 

A  torpor  on  his  frame, — which  not  the  speed 

Of  his  best  barb, — nor  music, — nor  the  blast 

Of  the  bold  huntstyian's  horn, — nor  aught — that  stirs 

The  spirit — to  its  bent, — might  drive  away. 

The  blood — beat  not  as  wont — within  his  veins; 

Dimness — crept  o'er  his  eye;  a  drowsy  sloth 

Fettered  his  limbs — like  palsy,  and  his  mien, 

(With  all  its  loftiness,)  seemed  struck  with  eld. 

Even  his  voice  was  changed — a  languid  moan 

Taking  the  place  of  the  clear  silver  key; 

And  b)-ain — and  sense  grew  faint,  as  if  the  light— 

And  very  air — were  steeped  in  sluggishness. 

He  strove  with  it — a  while,  as  manhood — will. 

Ever  too  proud — for  weakness, — till  the  rein — 

Slackened  within  his  grasp,  and  in  its  poise 

The  arrowy  jereed, — like  an  aspen, — shook. 

Day — after  day — he  lay — as  if  asleep  : 

His  skin — grew  dry — and  bloodless,  and  white  scales, 

(Circled  with  livid  purple,) — covered  him, 

— And  Melon — was  a  leper  I 

It  was  noon. 
And  Helon  knelt — beside  a  stagnant  7300^^ — 
In  the  lone  wilderness, — and  bathed  his  brow, 
Hot  with  the  burning  leprosy, — and  touched 
The  loathsome  water — to  his  fevered  lips. 
Praying — that  he  might  be  so  blest — to  die! 
Footsteps  approached, — and,  with  no  strength  tojlee,— 
He  drew  the  covering — closer  on  his  lip. 
Crying,  "Unclean!  unclean!"  and  in  the  folds 
Of  the  coarse  sackcloth — shrouding  up  his  face, 
He  fell  upon  the  earth — till  they  should  pass. 
Nearer — the  Stranger  came, — and — bending  o'er 
The  leper's  prostrate /orw, — pronounced  his  name— 
^^Uelon!"     The  voice — was  like  the  master-tone — 
Of  a  rich  instrument — most  strangely  sweet; 
And  the  dull  pulses  of  disease — awoke. 
And — for  a  moment — beat  beneath  the  hot 
And  leprous  scales — with  a  restoring  thrill. 
"Helon  !  arise!  "  and  he  forgot  his  cwse, — 
And  rose — and  stood  before  Him. 
He  looked  on  Helon — earnestly — a  while, — 
As  if  his  heart  were  moved, — and — (stooping  down) 
He  took  a  little  water  in  his  hand, 


172  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

And  laid  it  on  his  brow, — and  said, — "£e  clean  !  " 
And  lo !  the  scales  fell  from  him, — and  his  blood 
Coursed  with  delicious  coolness  through  his  veins. 
And  his  dry  palms — grew  moist,  and  on  his  brow — 
The  dewy  softness  of  an  injanVs  stole. 
His  leprosy — was  cleansed, — and  he  fell  down 
Prostrate  at  Jesus'  feet, — and  worshiped  him. 

IMMORTALITY  OF  THE  SOUL.    Addison. 

It  must  be  so, — Plato,  thou  reasonest  well! — 

Else — whence  the  pleasing  hope, — this  fond  desire, — 

This  longing — after  immortality  ? 

Or  whence — this  secret  dreod,  and  inward  horror, 

Of  falling  into  naught?      Why — shrinks  the  soul 

Back  on  herself,  and  startles — at  destruction  ? 

'T  is  the  divinity — that  stirs  within  us ; 

'T  is  Heaven  itself — that  points  out  a  hereafter, 

And  intimates  eternity — to  man. 

Eternity  !  thou  pleasing,  dreadful  thought ! 

Through  what  variety — of  untried  being. 

Through  what  new  scenes — and  changes — must  we  pass? 

The  wide, — the  unbounded  prospect,  lies  before  me; 

But  shadows, — clouds, — and  darkness — rest  upon  it. 

Here — will  I  hold.     If  there  's  a  power  above  us, 

(And  that  there  is,  all  naticre  cries  aloud 

Through  all  her  works,)  He — must  delight  in  virtue; 

And  that — which  He  delights  in  must  be  happy. 

But  when?  or  where?     This  world — was  made  for  Ccesar. 

I  'm  weary  of  conjectures.     This — must  end  them. 

\^Laying  his  hand  on  his  sword.'] 

Thus — am  I  doubly  armed : — my  death — and  life, 

jVIy  bane — and  antidote — are  both  before  me ; — 

This — in  a  moment — brings  me  to  an  end; 

But  this — informs  me^^I  shall  never  die. 

The  soul,  (secured  in  her  existence,)  smiles 

At  the  drawn  dagger,  and  defies  its  point. 

The  stars — shall  fade  away,  the  sun  hifnself 

Grow  dim — with  age,  and  nature — sink  in  years; 

But  thou — shalt  flourish — in  immortal  youth. 

Unhurt — amidst  the  wars  of  elements, 

The  wrecks — of  matter  — and  the  crush^-of  worlds. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  173 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Gesture  and  Deportment — Arbitrary  Kules — Pantomime — Necessity 
OF  Gesture — Faults  of  Orators — Grace  and  Dignity — Study  of 
THE  Passions — Observations  of  Nature — Selections. 

Gesture  and  deportment,  or  the  position  and  movement  of  the  body 
and  limbs,  under  the  influence  of  changing  mental  condition,  are  so 
multiform  that  we  despair  of  doing  them  justice  in  a  short  essay ;  nor 
can  we  with  any  degree  of  accuracy  give  rules  which  will  be  a  safe 
guide,  and  by  which  persons  may  acquire  graceful  and  at  the  same 
time  natural  attitudes  and  movements  of  the  body. 

There  have  been  elaborate  directions  given  by  authors,  copiously 
illustrated  by  engravings  and  characters,  indicating  the  right  and  left, 
up  and  down  movements  of  the  arms,  etc.,  which  may  serve  as  a  pos- 
sible guide  to  students  in  avoiding  angular  and  ungraceful  gestures. 
But  the  great  defect  has  been  in  giving  arbitrary  rules  without  direct- 
ing attention  to  the  cause  that  prompts  gesticulation,  and  without 
defining  the  part  it  is  to  take  in  adding  force  and  beauty  to  decla- 
mation. 

The  strongly  accented  and  emphatic  force,  and  the  great  modu- 
lating capacity  of  our  language,  gives  us  a  range  and  copiousness 
of  expression  that  much  lessens  the  need  of  the  pantolnimic  action 
of  the  limbs,  figure,  and  face  which  other  languages  seem  to  require. 
Yet  deportment  and  gesture  must  be  included  as  a  part  of  delivery, 
and  certainly  belongs  to  rhetorical  expression.  We  moderns  set  too 
small  an  estimate  on  their  effective  assistance  in  the  pronunciations  of 
oratory,  to  which  the  ancient  Greeks  and  Romans  attached  so  much 
importance.  The  rhetoricians  of  those  days  must  have  taught  the 
science  of  gesture  as  well  as  of  vocality:  indeed  they  were  of  divided 
opinion  which  should  take  the  preference  in  giving  impressive  effect. 
Quintilian's  saying  is  often  quoted,  that  "it  is  not  of  so  much  mo- 
ment what  our  compositions  are  as  how  they  are  pronounced ;"  while 
Cicero,  Pericles,  Demosthenes,  Aristotle,  and  other  renowned  orators 
were  of  the  same  opinion. 

We  must  admit  that  if  we  were  thrown  among  a  race  of  people, 
without  any  knowledge  of  their  vernacular,  the  pantomimic  language 


174  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

of  the  body  and  face  would  be  the  first  thing  we  should  resort  to  to 
make  ourselves  understood.  The  methods  of  the  Chinese,  cited  by- 
Fowler  in  his  "English  Grammar,"  is  an  illustration  of  the  expressive 
power  of  this  silent  but  powerful  language.  He  says:  "The  absence 
of  an  alphabet  has  deprived  the  Chinese  of  an  important  means  of 
preserving  a  uniformity  of  spoken  language  through  any  part  of  the 
empire.  A  native  of  China  would  be  altogether  unintelligible  speak- 
ing his  local  patois  at  a  distance  of  two  hundred  miles  from  home ; 
and  yet,  like  Arabic  figures  in  Europe,  the  written  character  is  every 
where  the  same  throughout  the  whole  of  China,  though  in  reading 
and  speaking  the  local  pronunciation  makes,  in  fact,  separate  lan- 
guages. The  Chinese  prefer  their  mode  of  speaking  to  the  mind 
through  the  eye,  by  means  of  visible  signs,  as  superior  to  spoken 
words  addressed  to  the  ear.  Indeed,  so  far  do  they  carry  their  at- 
tachment to  this  mode  of  communication,  that  it  is  not  uncommon 
there  to  see  men  conversing  rapidly  together  by  tracing  characters  in 
the  air." 

We  must  agree  therefore  with  the  ancients  that  there  is  a  power  in 
the  proper  use  of  gesture  that  should  not  be  overlooked  by  the  student 
who  expects  to  shine  in  the  forum,  in  the  pulpit,  or  on  the  stage.  For 
the  law  has  not  changed ;  gesture  is  as  necessary  now  as  in  the  days  of 
Demosthenes.  The  sight  as  well  as  the  ear  needs  instruction.  It  is 
said  that  the  man  who  can  speak  two  languages  with  ease  possesses  the 
power  of  two  men.  It  is  equally  true  that  the  person  who  can  with 
fluency  and  grace  speak  the  two  languages  of  speech  and  gesture 
conveys  in  what  he  says  the  force  of  two  men.  Such  a  one  truly 
in  earnest  is  a  host  in  himself,  and  speaks  with  an  authority  that 
carries  its  own  conviction.  Not  so  the  untaught,  uncertain  speaker : 
doubtfulness  impedes  his  utterance;  his  weak,  unexpressive  move- 
ments distress  us,  and  awkward  and  untimely  thrusts  disgust  us. 

We  admire  the  orator  who  stands  up  in  full  possession  of  himself 
and  his  subject.  He  will  require  no  such  accessories  as  pulling  at  his 
watch-chain  to  keep  himself  busy,  or  of  resting  his  hands  in  his  pock- 
ets to  hold  himself  up,  or  to  fumble  a  paper  to  employ  his  fingers,  or 
take  ofi"  and  put  on  his  spectacles  every  few  minutes  to  see  his  own 
ideas.  Nor  do  we  like  to  see  the  speaker  who  is  unable  to  stand  alone, 
and  supports  his  elbows  on  a  desk ;  nor  one  Avho  tosses  his  body  up  and 
down  as  though  it  were  a  spiral  spring,  elevated  by  the  lightness  and 
depressed  by  the  weight  of  his  ideas.  Neither  do  we  fancy  the  rock- 
ing to  and  fro  from  heel  to  toe,  nor  the  standing  like  a  wax  figure  with 
both  pedestals  like  perpendicular  parallel  lines,  with  arms  to  match. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  I75 

Nor  is  it  pleasant  to  see  the  arms  work  with  an  angular  jerk  or  straight 
up  and  down  movement,  or  flying  off  in  such  spasmodic  efforts  as  sug- 
gest internal  wires  and  cog-wheels  worked  by  crank.  Nor  should  a 
speaker  come  to  the  rostrum  displaying  his  manner  of  cleaning  his 
nose;  in  appearance  saying  to  his  audience,  "I  am  getting  ready  as 
fast  as  possible ; "  then  crowd  his  handkerchief  back  into  his  pocket  in 
a  business-like  way,  jerk  his  coat  into  place  with  his  shoulders,  which 
says,  "At  last  I  am  ready."  All  these  are  significant  gestures,  but  not 
relevant  to  the  occasion  nor  respectful  to  the  audience. 

What  then  is  gesture  ?  It  is  the  pathognomy  of  the  passions,  senti- 
ments, and  thoughts,  or  their  mode  of  expressing  themselves  by  panto- 
mimic movements  of  the  body,  limbs,  and  face.  This  is  its  ofiice,  which 
suggests  all  natural  movements,  and  these  can  only  be  effective  by  per- 
fectly expressing  the  passion  or  sentiment  of  which  they  are  to  be  the 
translators.  There  must  be  no  "outdoing  Termagant;"  but  "suit  the 
action  to  the  word,  the  word  to  the  action."  Every  emotion  has  its 
own  natural  symbol. 

If  we  wish  to  make  gesture  the  graceful  and  dignified  assistant  to 
declamation  and  acting,  instead  of  a  system  of  forced  movements  and 
unexpressive  motions  or  painful  bodily  contortions,  we  must  become 
close  and  critical  observers  of  the  mute  manifestations  of  different 
states  and  conditions  of  mind,  and  imitate  them.  Study  persons  when 
under  the  excitement  of  combative  and  destructive  passions ;  see  the 
clenched  hand,  the  forcible,  straight-line  movements  of  the  arms,  the 
defensive,  defiant  position  of  the  body,  and  the  firm  bracing  of  the  feet ; 
and  the  opposite  manifestations  of  fear — the  relaxed  and  shrinking 
body,  with  hands  thrown  up,  palms  outward,  and  the  fingers  separated 
and  bent  as  if  to  ward  off  the  danger.  Closely  akin  to  these  are  the 
signs  of  horror,  with  the  wild  look  of  the  eye.  Again,  observe  the  up- 
lifted hands  of  devotion  and  reverence,  pointing  the  upward  tendencies 
of  those  faculties ;  and  the  broader  and  more  flowing  movements  of  the 
arms  under  the  excited  imagination  of  the  general  poetical  sentiments  ; 
the  outstretched  hand  and  downward  palm  of  the  benediction;  in 
love,  the  soft  serenity  of  countenance,  the  languishing  eyes  and  sweet- 
ness of  voice ;  the  bright  expectant  look  of  hope ;  the  poised  and 
winged  appearance  of  flight ;  the  joyful  clasping  of  the  hands  in  real- 
ized desire ;  and  the  frowning  brow  and  furtive  and  uneasy  glances  of 
hatred  and  revenge. 

These  signs,  given  under  the  influence  and  excitement  of  the  pas- 
sions, are  infallible  indicators  of  the  uses  of  gesture,  and  open  to  us 
fully  their  importance  in  making  declamation  expressive  and  effective : 


176  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

and  every  one  who  intends  to  become  an  orator  or  an  actor  should 
keep  his  eyes  open  to  this  the  language  of  nature. 

It  may  be  argued  that  gesture  should  be  spontaneous,  and  so  it 
should.  It  should  be  that  spontaneity  that  comes  from  limbs  and 
muscles  that  have  long  been  trained  in  obedience  to  ease  and  grace. 
The  speaker's  tones  of  voice  should  not  be  uppermost  in  his  mind 
during  the  delivery  of  his  oration ;  but  these  must  be  obedient  from 
previous  training  to  express  every  shade  of  thought  which  the  subject 
and  occasion  require.  It  must  not  be  supposed  that  these  matters 
relate  to  declamation  only;  they  should  be  studied  with  the  idea 
that  the  more  perfectly  we  express  ourselves  the  better  instructors 
we  become,  and  the  greater  our  influence  in  the  world.  A  life  of 
noble  purposes,  ably  and  artistically  given  to  the  world,  is  a  blessing 
to  mankind.  We  glorify  our  Maker  by  the  best  use  of  the  faculties 
he  has  given  us  for  the  elevation  of  ourselves  and  others.  It  is  not 
the  simple  shouting  of  his  name  which  glorifies  it.  We  should  express 
the  beauty,  variety,  and  greatness  of  his  endowments  by  purest  pur- 
poses and  noblest  efforts. 

SONG  OF  THE  SHIRT. 

With  fingers  weary  and  worn, 

With  eyelids  heavy  and  red, 
A  woman  sat,  in  unwomanly  rags, 

Plying  her  needle  and  thread. 
Stitch!  stitch!  stitch! 

In  poverty,  hunger,  and  dirt, 
And  still  with  a  voice  of  dolorous  pitch 

She  sang  the  "  Song  of  the  Shirt ! " 

"  Work — work — work 

"While  the  cock  is  crowing  aloof! 
And  work — work — work 

Till  the  stars  shine  through  the  roof! 
It 's  oh !  to  be  a  slave 

Along  with  the  barbarous  Turk, 
Where  woman  has  never  a  soul  to  save, 

If  this  is  Christian  work. 

Work — work — work 

Till  the  brain  begins  to  swim ; 
Work — work — work 

Till  the  eyes  are  heavy  and  dim ! 
Seam  and  gusset  and  band. 

Band  and  gusset  and  seam. 
Till  over  the  buttons  I  fall  asleep 

And  sew  them  on  in  a  dream  I 


MANUAL   OF  ELOCUTION.  177 

"Work — work — work  I 

My  labor  never  flags ; 
And  what  are  its  wages?    A  bed  of  straw, 

A  crust  of  bread — and  rags ; 
This  shattered  roof,  and  this  naked  floor — 

A  table — a  broken  chair — 
And  a  wall  so  blank,  my  shadow  I  thank 

For  sometimes  falling  there ! 

Work — work — work 

From  weary  chime  to  chime; 
Work — work — work, 

As  prisoners  work  for  crime ! 
Band  and  gusset  and  seam, 

Seam  and  gusset  and  band. 
Till  the  heart  is  sick,  and  the  brain  benumbed, 

As  well  as  the  weary  hand. 

Work — work — work 

In  the  dull  December  light,  „ 

And  work — work — work 

When  the  weather  is  warm  and  bright ; 
While  underneath  the  eaves 

The  brooding  swallows  cling. 
As  if  to  show  me  their  sunny  backs, 

And  twit  me  with  the  spring. 

Oh !  but  to  breathe  the  breath 

Of  the  cowslip  and  primrose  sweet — 
With  the  sky  above  my  head, 

And  the  grass  beneath  my  feet  I 
For  only  one  short  hour 

To  feel  as  I  used  to  feel, 
Before  I  knew  the  woes  of  want 

And  the  walk  that  costs  a  meal! 

Oh !  but  for  one  short  hour — 

A  respite,  however  brief! 
No  blessed  leisure  for  love  or  hope, 

But  only  time  for  grief! 
A  little  weeping  would  ease  my  heart, 

But  in  their  briny  bed 
My  tears  must  stop,  for  every  drop 

Hinders  needle  and  thread ! 

O  men  with  sisters  dear  I 

O  men  with  mothers  and  wives ! 
It  is  not  linen  you  're  wearing  out. 

But  human  creatures'  lives! 
Stitch — stitch — stich, — 

In  poverty,  hunger,  and  dirt, 
Sewing  at  once  with  a  double  thread 

A  shroud  as  well  as  a  shirt. 

12 


178  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

But  why  do  I  ta]k  of  Death  ? 

That  phantom  of  grisly  bone, 
I  hardly  fear  his  terrible  shape, 

It  seems  so  like  my  own — 
It  seems  so  like  my  own 

Because  of  the  fasts  I  keep. 
O  God !  that  bread  should  be  so  dear, 

And  flesh  and  blood  so  cheap ! " 

HAMLET'S  ADVICE  TO  THE  PLAYERS.    Shakespeare. 

Speak  the  speech,  I  pray  you,  as  I  pronounced  it  to  you,  trippingly  on  the 
tongue:  but  if  you  mouth  it,  as  many  of  your  players  do,  I  had  as  lief  the 
iown-cv'iQT  spoke  my  lin^s.  Nor  do  not  saw  the  air  too  much  with  your  hand, — 
thus:  but  use  all  gently:  for  in  the  very  torrent, — tempest,  and  (as  I  may  say) 
whirlwind  of  your  passion,  you  must  acquire  and  beget  a  temperance  that  may 
give  it  smoothness.  Oh,  it  offends  me  to  the  soul  to  see  a  robustious  periwig- 
pated  fellow  tear  a  passion  to  tatters, — to  very  rags,  to  split  the  ears  of  the 
groundlings ;  who,  for  the  most  part,  are  capable  of  nothing  but  inexplicable 
dumb  shows  and  noise:  I  would  have  such  a  fellow  whipped  for  o'erdoing 
Termagant;  it  out-herods  Herod.  Pray  you,  avoid  it.  Be  not  too  tame 
neither;  but  let  your  own  discretion  be  your  tutor:  suit  the  action  to  the 
word,  the  word  to  the  action ;  with  this  special  observance,  that  you  o'erstep 
not  the  modesty  of  nature ;  for  any  thing  so  overdone  is  from  the  purpose  of 
playing,  whose  end,  both  at  the  first  and  now,  was  and  is  to  hold,  as  't  were, 
the  mirror  up  to  nature;  to  show  virtue  her  own  feature,  scorn  her  own  image, 
and  the  very  age  and  body  of  the  time  his  form  and  pressure.  Now  this, 
overdone  or  come  tardy  oflT,  though  it  make  the  unskillful  laugh,  can  not  but 
make  the  judicious  grieve;  the  censure  of  the  which  one  must,  in  your  allow- 
ance, o'erweigh  a  whole  theater  of  others.  Oh,  there  be  players  that  I  have 
seen  play — and  heard  others  praise,  and  that  highly — not  to  speak  it  profanely, 
that,  neither  having  the  accent  of  Christians,  nor  the  gait  of  Christian,  pagan, 
nor  man,  have  so  strutted  and  bellowed  that  I  have  thought  some  of  nature's 
journeymen  had  made  men,  and  not  made  them  well,  they  imitated  humanity 
so  abominably. 

MOONBEAMS. 
Sitting  in  the  dusky  light, 
Watching  shadows  of  the  night 
Darkly  fall  o'er  distant  hill 
While  the  world  is  calm  and  still. 
Moonbeams  come  with  fairy  gleams, 
Filling  all  my  heart  with  dreams. 
Lighting  up  the  days  by-gone. 
Hallowing  all  the  years  to  come. 

Shimmering  through  the  leaves  so  bright, 
Dancing  on  the  casement  white. 
Falling  golden  on  the  floor. 
Beams  of  radiance  round  me  pour; 


MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION.  17^ 

Golden  glories  glad  the  gloom, 
Streams  of  gold  light  up  the  room ; 
Ever  dancing,  ever  gay. 
Round  me  gentle  moonbeams  play, 

Dancing  joyous  at  my  feet, 
Weaving  golden  threads  so  sweet, 
With  dark  fancies  woof  the  night, 
Giving  glimmerings  of  the  light 
That  will  gild  my  future  years. 
Making  rainbows  of  my  tears. 
Then,  all  ye  darker  thoughts,  away 
While  sweet  moonbeams  round  me  play. 

FAIRY  BELLS  AND  BRIDGES. 

Brightly  danced  the  shimmering  moonlight  over  Oberon's  fair  isle. 
Hallowing  mountain,  vale,  and  river  with  its  mellow,  lambent  smile; 
Peering  through  the  moaning  forest  as  it  echoed  Ocean's  roar, 
Flecking  with  a  wild  mosaic  all  its  hidden  mossy  floor; 

Not  more  lightly. 

Not  more  brightly. 
Than  at  midnight  danced  the  fairies  its  bewildering  mazes  o'er. 

Sweetly  fell  the  tinkling  music  of  their  tiny  tripping  feet, 

As  they  rose  and  fell  so  airily,  in  low,  harmonious  beat ; 

And  their  gem-bespangled  garments  rustled  in  the  giddy  round. 

Blithely  whirling  out  their  gladness  on  the  moonlit  forest  ground; — 

Far  more  cheerily. 

Far  more  merrily. 
Than  upon  Einaldo's  spirit  fell  the  strange  discordant  sound  I 

For  he  sought  the  lonely  forest  at  the  silent  midnight  hour, 
That  its  passion-hushing  stillness  o'er  his  spirit  might  have  power, — 
For  the  maiden  that  he  worshiped  laughed  his  trembling  love  to  scorn — 
He  was  but  an  humble  peasant — she  a  noble  lady  born! 

And  the  dancing 

Sprites,  advancing 
In  their  merry  whirl,  seemed  mocking  every  trembling  hope  forlorn. 

Suddenly  toward  Einaldo  they  approached  in  bright  array. 
Closed  about  the  'wildered  lover,  and  began  a  dance  more  gay, 
Singing  blithely  to  the  measure  of  their  tiny  tripping  feet. 
As  they  fell  and  rose  so  nimbly  in  their  low  harmonious  beat! 

"We  can  see  the  lights  and  shadows  play  around  the  hapless  lover — 
We  can  build  our  fairy  bridges  so  that  love  will  soon  pass  over; 
We  've  a  curb  and  we've  a  bridle  that  will  fit  the  proudest  maiden. 
And  we've  golden  bells  to  grace  them — golden  bells  with  true  love  laden. 
Oh  I  the  fairies  weave  the  meshes 
Of  the  net  which  Cupid  holds, 
And  the  tiny  bells  they  tinkle 
Are  the  bait  with  which  he  trolls. 


180  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

While  they  throw  their  curb  and  bridle 

Over  all  that  he  enfolds ! 

Set  the  fairy  bells  to  ringing ! 

Cure  the  heart  that  pride  is  stinging  I 

Build  a  bridge  the  slighted  lover 

May  unto  his  bride  pass  over!" 

Oh,  the  ringing  of  the  bells ! 

How  across  the  heart  it  swells ! 
And  Kinaldo's  spirit  dances  at  the  ringing  of  the  bells ; 

Noble  pride  his  heart  is  filling, 

O'er  his  breast  a  joy  distilling 
"With  the  ringing  joyous  music  of  the  golden  fairy  bells ! 

Then  a  shaking 

And  a  quaking, 

Lo,  the  forest  sod  is  breaking ! 
And  Gorilla  stands  before  him,  at  the  ringing  of  the  bells! 

Oh,  the  ringing  of  the  bells, 

How  across  the  heart  it  swells ! 
And  Gorilla's  spirit  dances  with  the  ringing  of  the  bells! 

The  scorn  that  curled  her  ruby  lip — the  pride  that  fired  her  eye. 
The  fairy-bells  had  brought  them  wings,  and  taught  them  how  to  fly; 
And  when  the  merry  music  ceased  a  smile  beamed  o'er  her  face, 
Such  as  before  Einaldo's  eye  in  vain  had  sought  to  trace  j 

Then  a  rustling 

And  a  bustling. 
And  their  ranks  the  fairies  parted : 

Then  advancing 

Gaily  dancing, 
Both  Gorilla  and  Kinaldo  as  from  out  a  dream  were  started. 

Lips  had  met — and  each  gay  fairy 
Shouted  for  the  bridge,  so  airy! 
Lips  had  met — and  bells  were  ringing, 
And  each  elfin  sprite  was  singing : 
"  We  can  crush  the  pride  so  hollow, 
Making  room  for  love  to  follow ! 
.  We  can  build  a  bridge  the  lover 

May  unto  his  bride  pass  over ! " 

THE  HUMAN  BRAIN. 

"What  a  strange  thing  is  the  human  brain,  the  seat  both  of  physical  sensa- 
tion and  of  spiritual  perception!  Who  shall  say  how  intimately  the  two  are 
blended — how  far  their  kingdoms  are  extended  over  each  other!  When  we 
reflect  upon  the  fact  that  nothing  is  ever  entirely  forgotten — that  although  we 
may  not  recall  at  our  will  the  memory  of  what  once  was  learned  or  known, 
yet  that  every  thought  we  once  had  is  still  stored  away  in  those  small,  strange 
chambers  within  our  heads,  it  is  enough  to  inspire  us  with  awe  at  our  own 
being ;  and  still  more,  at  the  wonderful  Power  which  fashioned  us.     Kecollec- 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  IgJ 

tions  of  the  past  called  back  by  the  association  of  the  perfume  of  a  flower  or  a 
strain  of  music;  the  memories  which  rush  through  the  brain  of  the  drowning 
or  the  falling  man,  showing  him  every  event  of  his  life  treasured  up  within 
him;  the  ravings  of  the  old  Scotch  servant,  who  talked  Hebrew  in  her  de- 
lirium— all  go  to  prove  that  nothing  is  ever  wholly  lost  which  once  was  ours. 
How  strange  to  think  of  these  silent,  unconscious  inhabitants  slumbering 
within  our  brain,  which  may  at  any  time  start  up  in  witness  of  past  pain 
and  pleasure,  error  and  good  I  Space  they  can  not  occupy,  for  they  are 
multitudinous  beyond  expression,  yet  they  are  local.  Spiritual  they  are,  but 
indefinitely  connected  with  matter.  They  belong  to  us,  and  not  to  another. 
They  are  in  our  heads,  and  not  in  our  feet.  What  is  it  that  thus  chains  the 
material  to  the  immaterial?  Secrets  hidden  away  in  the  keeping  of  God  are 
many  of  them  mysteries,  and  vain  is  the  attempt  of  science  and  philosophy 
to  expound  them.  Science  may  explain  all  laws  of  matter,  but  not  the  laws 
of  mind;  they  are  of  the  impenetralia  of  the  spiritual." 

THE  KATYDID.    O.  W.  Holmes. 
I  love  to  hear  thine  earnest  voice 

Wherever  thou  art  hid. 
Thou  testy  little  dogmatist, 

Thou  pretty  Katydid! 
Thou  'mindest  me  of  gentlefolks,— 

Old  gentlefolks  are  they, — 
Thou  say'st  an  undisputed  thing 

In  such  a  solemn  way. 
Thou  art  a  female,  Katydid  I 

I  know  it  by  the  trill 
That  quivers  through  thy  piercing  notes, 

So  petulant  and  shrill. 
I  think  there  is  a  knot  of  you 

Beneath  the  hollow  tree, 
A  knot  of  spinster  Katydids ; — 

Do  Katydids  drink  tea  ? 

Oh,  tell  me  where  did  Katy  live, 

And  what  did  Katy  do  ? 
And  was  she  very  fair  and  young, 

And  yet  so  wicked  too? 
Did  Katy  love  a  naughty  man, 

Or  kiss  more  cheeks  than  one  ? 
I  warrant  Katy  did  no  more 

Than  many  a  Kate  has  done. 
Dear  me!  I'll  tell  you  all  about 

My  fuss  with  little  Jane 
And  Ann,  with  whom  I  used  to  walk 

So  often  down  the  lane. 
And  all  that  tore  their  locks  of  black, 

Or  wet  their  eyes  of  blue, 
Pray  tell  me,  sweetest  Katydid, 

What  did  poor  Katy  do  ? 


182  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Ah  no !  the  living  oak  shall  crash, 

That  stood  for  ages  still, 
The  rock  shall  rend  its  mossy  base, 

And  thunder  down  the  hill, 
Before  the  little  Katydid 

Shall  add  one  word,  to  tell 
The  mystic  story  of  the  maid 

Whose  name  she  knows  so  well. 
Peace  to  the  ever-murmuring  race ! 

And  when  the  latest  one 
Shall  fold  in  death  her  feeble  wings, 

Beneath  the  autumn  sun. 
Then  shall  she  raise  her  fainting  voice. 

And  lift  her  drooping  lid, 
And  then  the  child  of  future  years 

Shall  learn  what  Katy  did. 

Manhood  is  disgraced  by  the  consequences  of  neglected  youth.  Old  age, 
oppressed  by  cares  that  belonged  to  a  former  period,  labors  under  a  burden 
not  its  own.  At  the  close  of  life  the  dying  man  beholds  with  anguish  that 
his  days  are  finishing,  when  his  preparation  for  eternity  is  hardly  commenced. 
Such  are  the  effects  of  a  disorderly  waste  of  time,  through  not  attending  to  its 
value.  Every  thing  in  the  life  of  such  persons  is  misplaced.  Nothing  is  per- 
formed aright,  from  not  being  performed  in  due  season. 

BEAUTY.     Dr.  Channino. 

In  looking  at  our  nature  we  discover  among  its  admirable  endowments  the 
sense  or  perception  of  Beauty.  We  see  the  germ  of  this  in  every  human  being, 
and  there  is  no  power  which  admits  greater  cultivation ;  and  why  should  it 
not  be  cherished  in  all  ?  It  deserves  remark  that  the  provision  for  this  prin- 
ciple is  infinite  in  the  universe.  There  is  but  a  very  minute  portion  of  the  crea- 
tion which  we  can  turn  into  food  and  clothes  or  gratification  for  the  body;  but 
the  whole  creation  may  be  used  to  minister  to  the  sense  of  beauty.  Beauty  is 
an  all-pervading  presence.  It  unfolds  in  the  numberless  flowers  of  the  spring; 
it  waves  in  the  branches  of  the  trees  and  the  green  blades  of  grass ;  it  haunts 
the  depths  of  the  earth  and  sea,  and  gleams  out  in  the  hues  of  the  shell  and  the 
precious  stone.  And  not  only  these  minute  objects,  but  the  ocean,  the  moun- 
tains, the  clouds,  the  heaven,  the  stars,  the  rising  and  setting  sun,  all  overflow 
with  beauty.  The  universe  is  its  temple;  and  those  men  who  are  alive  to  it 
can  not  lift  their  eyes  without  feeling  themselves  encompassed  with  it  on  every 
side.  Now  this  beauty  is  so  precious,  the  enjoyments  it  gives  are  so  refined  and 
pure,  so  congenial  with  our  tenderest  and  noblest  feelings,  and  so  akin  to  worship, 
that  it  is  painful  to  think  of  the  multitude  of  men  as  living  in  the  midst  of  it, 
as  if,  instead  of  this  fair  earth  and  glorious  sky,  they  were  tenants  of  a  dungeon. 
An  infinite  joy  is  lost  to  the  world  by  the  want  of  culture  of  this  spiritual  endow- 
ment. Suppose  that  I  were  to  visit  a  cottage,  and  to  see  its  walls  lined  with  the 
choicest  pictures  of  Kaphael,  and  every  spare  nook  filled  with  statues  of  the  most 
exquisite  workmanship,  and  that  I  were  to  learn  that  neither  man,  woman,  nor 
child  ever  cast  an  eye  at  these  miracles  of  art,  how  should  I  feel  their  privation,; 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  183 

how  should  I  want  to  open  their  eyes  and  to  help  them  to  comprehend  and  feel 
the  loveliness  and  grandeur  which  in  vain  courted  their  notice!  But  every  hus- 
bandman is  living  in  sight  of  the  works  of  a  diviner  Artist;  and  how  much 
would  his  existence  be  elevated  could  he  see  the  glory  which  shines  forth  in 
their  forms,  hues,  proportions,  and  moral  expression  !  I  have  spoken  only  of  the 
beauty  of  nature;  but  how  much  of  this  mysterious  charm  is  found  in  the  ele- 
gant arts,  and  especially  in  literature  ?  The  best  books  have  most  beauty.  The 
greatest  truths  are  wronged  if  not  linked  with  beauty,  and  they  win  their  way 
most  surely  and  deeply  into  the  soul  when  arrayed  in  this  their  natural  and  fit 
attire.  Now  no  man  receives  the  true  culture  of  a  man  in  whom  the  sensibility 
to  the  beautiful  is  not  cherished;  and  I  know  of  no  condition  in  life  from  which 
it  should  be  excluded.  Of  all  luxuries  this  is  the  cheapest  and  most  at  hand ; 
and  it  seems  to  me  to  be  most  important  to  those  conditions  where  coarse  labor 
tends  to  give  a  grossness  to  the  mind.  From  the  diffusion  of  the  s^nse  of  beauty 
in  ancient  Greece,  and  of  the  taste  for  music  in  modern  Germany,  we  learn  that 
the  people  at  large  may  partake  of  refined  gratifications  which  have  hitherto 
been  thought  to  be  necessarily  restricted  to  a  few. 

MORNING  IN  SPRING.    Geo.  D.  Peenticb. 

How  stveet — the  landscape  !  Morning — twines 

Her  tresses  round  the  brow  of  Day, 
And  bright  mists — o'er  the/ores^  pines 

Like  happy  spirits — float  away 
To  revel — on  the  mountain's  crown, 
Whence  the  glad  stream  comes — shouting  down 
Through  woods — and  rocks — that  hang  on  high^ 
Like  clouds — against  the  deep-blue  skg. 

The  woven  sounds  of  bird — and  stream 

Are  falling  beautiful  and  deep 
Upon  the  spirit  like  a  dream 

Of  music — on  the  ear  of  sleep; 
And  sweetly — from  the  dewy  bowers 
Soft  murmurs, — like  the  breath  of  flowers^ 
Are  winding — through  the  purple  grove 
And  blending — with  the  notes  of  love. 

A  cloud — is  on  the  sky  above, 

And  calmly — o'er  the  young  year's  blue 
'Tis  coming — like  a  thing  of  love 

'^o  gladden — in  the  I'ising  dew; 
Its  white  waves — with  the  twilight  blend, 
And  gentle  spirits — seem  to  bend, 
From  its  unrolling /oWs — to  hear 
The  glad  sounds — of  our  joyous  sphere. 

The  lake,  unrufiled  by  the  breeze, 

Smiles  in  its  sweet,  unbroken  rest. 
As  if  't  were  dream.ing — of  the  trees 

And  blossoms — pictured  on  its — breast. 


134  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Its  depths — are  glowing  bright — and /oir, 
And  the  deep  skies — seem  hollowed  there, 
/So/Mrembling — as  they  felt  the  thrill 
Of  music — echoed  from  the  hill. 

The  living  soul  of  beauty  fills 

The  air — with  glorious  visions — bright, 

They  wander — o'er  the  far-off"  hills, — 
And  linger — in  the  clear  blue  light; 

Off"  to  the  breathing  heavens  they  go, 

Along  the  earth — they  live — and  glow^ 

Shed  o'er  the  lake — their  happy  smiles, 

And  beckon — to  the  glittering  isles. 

Oh,— at  this  hour — when  air  and  earth — 
Gush  out — with  love — &nd  joy  and  light, 

And  songs  of  gladness — hail  the  birth 
Of  all  that 's  beautiful — and  bright, 

Each  juwise — beats  high,  each  heart — is  blown 

To  flame,  the  spirit — drinks  the  tone 

Of  higher  worlds — and  melts  away 

in  visions — of  eternal  day. 

LOCHIEL'S  WARNING.    Campbell. 

"Wizard.     Lochiel, — Lochiel !  beware  of  the  day — 
When  the  lowlands  shall  meet  thee — in  battle  array! 
For  a  field  of  the  dead — rushes  red  on  my  sight. 
And  the  clans  of  Culloden — are  scattered  in  flight. 
They  rally, — they  bleed — for  their  kingdom — and  crown  ; 
Woe,  woe — to  the  riders — that  trample  them  down  ! 
Proud  Cumberland  prances, — insulting  the  slain, 
And  their  hoof-beaten  bosoms — are  trod — to  the  plain  I 
But  hark !  through  the  fast  flashing  lightning  of  war, 
What  steed — to  the  desert — ^\es,  frantic — and/ar? 
'T  is  thine, — oh  GlenuUin  !  whose  bride — shall  await, 
Like  a  love-lighted  watch-^ve,  all  night — at  the  gate. 
A  steed — comes  at  morning ;  no  rider  is  there ; 
But  its  bridle — is  red — with  the  sign  of  despair. 
Weep, — Albin  I  to  death — and  captivity  led  ! 
(yh,weep  I  but  thy  tears — can  not  number  the  dead. 
For  a  merciless  sword — on  Culloden  shall  wave, 
Culloden  !  that  reeks — with  the  blood  of  the  brave. 

Lochiel.     Go — preach  to  the  coward,  thou  death-telling  seer ! 
Or,  if  gory  Culloden — so  dreadful  appear, 
Draw, — (dotard,) — around  thy  old  wavering  sight 
This  mantle — to  cover — the  phantoms — of  flight. 

Wizard.     Ha!  laugKst  thou,  Lochiel,  my  vision  to  scorn? 
Proud  bird  of  the  mountain,  thy  plume — shall  be  torn ! — 
Say,  rusK'd  the  bold  eagle — exultingly  forth 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  jgS 

From  his  liome — in  the  dark-rolling  clouds  of  the  north  ? 
Lo !  the  death-shot  of  foeman  outspeeding — he  rode, 
Companionless,  bearing  destruction  abroad : 
But  dow7i — let  him  stoop — from  his  havoc  on  high  I 
Ah  I  home  let  him  speed, — for  the  spoiler  is  nigh. 
Why — flames  the  far  sumtnit  9     Why  shoot  to  the  blast 
Those  embers, — like  stars — from  the  Jirmament  cast? 
'Tis  the  fire-shower  of  ruin,  all  dreadfully  driven 
From  his  eyrie, — that  beacons — the  darkness  of  heaven. 
Oh  I  crested  Lochiel !  the  peerless  in  might. 
Whose  banners  arise — on  the  battlements^  height. 
Heaven's  fire  is  around  thee — to  blast — and  to  burn; 
Return  to  thy  dwelling ;  all  lonely  return ! 
For  the  blackness  of  ashes — shall  mark  where  it  stood, 
And  a  wild  mother — scream  o'er  her  famishing  brood  I 

Lochiel.     Faise  Wizard, — avaunti    I  have  marshal'd  my  clan; 
Their  swords — are  a  thousand, — their  hearts — are  but  one  I 
They  are  true — to  the  last  of  their  blood — and  their  breath, 
And — like  reapers — descend — to  the  harvest  of  death. 
Then  welcome — be  Cmnberlands  steed  to  the  shock ! 
Let  him  dash  his  proud  foam — like  a  wave — on  the  rock  I 
But  woe  to  his  kindred, — and  woe  to  his  cause, — 
When  Albin — her  claymore — indignantly  draws ; 
When  her  bonneted  chie/f tains — to  victory  crowd, 
Clanronald — the  dauntless, — and  Moray— the  proud; 
All  plaided — and  plumed — in  their  tartan  array 

Wizard.     Lochiel,  Lochiel!  beivare — of  the  day  I 
For  dark — and  despairing — my  sight  I  may  seal. 
But  ma7i — can  not  cover — what  God  would  reveal ; 
'T  is  the  sunset  of  life — gives  me  mystical  lore. 
And  coming  events — cast  their  shadows — before. 
I  tell  thee,  Culloden's  dread  echoes — shall  ring 
With  the  blood-honn^i — that  bark — for  thy  fugitive  king. 
Lo !  anointed  by  Heaveti — with  the  vials  of  wrath, 
Behold — where  hefiies — on  his  desolate  joa^A/ 
Now, — in  darkness — and  billows, — he  sweeps  from  my  sight; 
Rise,  rise!  ye  wild  tempests, — and  cover  h\s, flight! — 
'Tis finished!    Their  thunders — are  husKd — on  the  moors; 
Culloden — is  lost, — and  my  country — deplores! 
But  wheTe— is  the  iron-bound  prisoner  ?     Where  ? — 
For  the  red  eye  of  battle — is  shut  in  despair. 
Say,  mounts  he  the  ocean-wave, — banish'd, — forlorn, 
Like  a  li^nb — from  his  country — cast  bleeding — and  torn  9 
Ah, no.'  for  a  darker  departure  is  near; 
The  wn7'-drum — is  muffled, — and  black — is  the  bier; 
His  rfeai'A-bell — is  tolling!       O!    Mercy  dispel 
Yon  sight, — that  it  freezes — my  bosom — to  tell ! 
Life — flutters — convulsed—in  his  quivering  limbs, 


186  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

And  his  blood-streaming  nostril — in  ago7iy  swims. 
Accursed — be  the  faffots  that  blaze  at  his  feet, 
Where  his  heart  shall  be  thrown — ere  it  ceases  to  heat, 
With  the  smoke  of  its  ashes — to  poison  the  gale 

LocHiEL.     Down,  soothXess  insulter  !    I  trust  not  the  te?e, 
For  never — shall  Albin — a  destiny  meet — 
So  hlack — with  dishonor, — so  foul — with  retreat. 
Though  my  perishing  ranks — should  be  strew'd  in  their  gvre. 
Like  oceaw- weeds — heap'd  on  the  SM?/-beaten  shore, 
Lochiel, — untai7ited — hj  flight — or  by  chains, 
While  the  kindling  of  life — in  his  bosom  remains, 
Shall  victor — exult — or  in  death — be  laid  low, — 
With  his  back — to  the  field, — and  his  feet — to  the/oe/ 
And,  leaving  in  battle — no  blot  on  his  name, 
Ijook  proudly — to  heaven — from  the  death-hedi — oi  famel 

THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON.    Bybon. 

Eternal  Spirit— of  the  chainless  mind! 
Brightest — in  dungeons,  liberty,  thou  art, 
For  there— Wiy  habitation — is  the  heart, — 

The  heart — which  love  of  thee — alone  can  bind. 

They  chained  us — each — to  a  column  stone, 
And  we  were  three, — yet  each — alone ; — 
We  could  not  m,ove — a  single  pace, 
We  could  not  see — each  other's /ace. 
But — with  that  joaZe — and  livid — light 
That  made  us  strangers — in  our  sight. 
And  thus — together, — yet  apart. 
Fettered — in  hand,  but  pined — in  heart ; 
'T  was  still — some  solace,  in  the  dearth 
Of  the  pure  elements  of  earth, 
To  hearken — to  each  other's  speech. 
And  each — turn  comforter — to  eacA, 
With  some  new  hope,  or  legend  old ; 
But  even  these — at  length — grew  cold. 

I — was  the  eldest — of  the  three. 

And  to  uphold — and  cheer  the  rest, 
I  ought  to  do — and  did  my  best, — 
And  each — did  well — in  his  degree. 

The  youngest — whom  my  father  loved, 
Because  my  mother's  brow  was  given 
To  him, — with  eyes — as  blue — as  heaven. 
For  him, — my  soul  was  sorely  moved ; 
For  he  was  beautiful — as  day. 
And  in  his  natural — spirit — gay ; 
With  tears — for  naught — but  others'  ills, 
And  then — they  flowed  like  mountain  rills, 
Unless  he  could  assuage  the  woe — 
Which  he  abhorred— io  view  below. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  ^37 

The  other — was  as  pure— of  mind, 
But  formed  to  combat — with  his  kind ; 
Strong — in  his /»'ome,  and  of  a  mood 
"Which — 'gainst  the  world — in  war  had  stood, 
And  perished — in  the  fo}-emost  rank 

With  joy: — but  not  in  chains — to  pine; — 
His  spirit — withered — with  their  clank, — 

I  saw  it  silently — decline. 

He  loathed — and  put  away  his  food, — 
It  was  not — that  't  was  coarse — and  rtide, 
For  we  were  used  to  hunter's  fare, 
And  for  the  like — had  little  care  ; 
The  milk — drawn  from  the  mountain  goat, 
Was  changed — for  water — from  the  moat; 
Our  bread — was  such  as  captive's  tears 
Have  moistened — many  a  thousand  years 
Since  man — first  pent  his  /eWo«;-men 
Like  brutes — within  an  iron  den. 
But  what  were  these — to  us — or  him  ? 
These — wasted  not  his  hea}-t — or  limb; 
My  brother's  soul — was  of  that  mold. 
Which  in  a  palace — had  grown  cold 
Had  his  free  breathing — been  denied 
The  range — of  the  steep  mountain's  side;^ 
But  why — delay — the  truth  ? — he  died. 

I  saw,  and  could  not  hold  his  head. 
Nor  reach  his  dying  hand, — nor  dead, — 
Though  hard  I  strove,  but  strove  in  vain, 
To  rend — and  gnash  my  bonds  in  twain. 
He  died, — and  they  unlocked  his  chain, 
And  scooped  for  him — a  shallow  grave. 
Even  from  the  cold  earth — of  our  cave. 

I  begged  them,  as  a  boon,  to  lay 
His  corse — in  dust — whereon  the  day 
Might  shine, — it  was  &  foolish  thought, — 
But  then — within  my  brain — it  wrought 
That  even  in  death — his  freeborn  breast 
In  such  a  dungeon  could  not  rest. 
I  might  have  spared  my  idle  prayer, — 
They  coldly  laughed, — and  laid  him  there  ; 
The  fiat — and  turfless  earth — above 
The  being — we  so  much  did  love; — 
His  empty  chain — above  it  leant, 
Such  murder's  fitting  monument. 

But  he,  the  favorite — and  the  flower, 
Most  cherished — ^since  his  juital  hour, 


188  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

His  martyred /a^Aer's  dearest  thought, 
My  latest  care, — for  whom  I  sought 
To  hoard  my  life,  that  his  might  be 
Less  wretched — now,  and  07ie — d&y  free; 
He  too  was  struck,  and — day — by  day 
"Was  withered — on  the  stalk  away. 

0  God!  it  is  &  fearful  thing — 
To  see  the  human  soul  take  wing 
In  any  shape,  in  any  mood; — 
I've  seen  it  rushing  forth  in  blood; 

1  've  seen  the  sick — and  ghastly  bed 
Of  sin — delirious — with  its  dread; — 

But  these — were  horrors, — this — was  woe — 
Unmixed — with  such, — but  sure — and  slow. 

"Ke  faded, — and,  so  calm — and  meek, 
So  softly  worn,  so  sweetly  weak, 
So  tearless,  yet  so  tender, — kind, 
And  grieved — for  those  he  left  behind; 
With  all  the  while — a  cheek  whose  bloom, 
Was  as  a  mockery — of  the  tom.b, 
Whose  tints — as  gently  sunk  away 
As  a  departing  rainbow's  ray; 
An  eye — of  most  transparent  light, 
That  almost  made  the  dungeon — bright. 

And  then — the  sighs — ^he  would  suppress — 

Of  fainting  nature's  feebleness; — 

I  listened,  but  I  could  not  hear; 

I  called,  for  I  was  wild — with /ear; — 

I  called,  and  thought — I  heard  a  sound, — 

I  hurst  my  chain — with  one  strong  bound, 

And  rushed  to  him:  1  found  him  not, 

/ — 07ily — stirred — in  this  black  spot, 

J — only — lived, — / — only — drew 

The  accursed  breath — of  dungeon-dew ; 

The  last, — the  sole, — the  dearest  link 

Between  me — and  the  eternal  brink, 

Which  bound  me — to  my  failing  race 

Was  broken — in  this  fatal  place. 

What  next  befell  me — then — and  t?iere 

I  know  not  well, — I  never  knew; — 
First — came  the  loss  of  light — and  air. 

And  then — of  darkness  too. 
There  were  no  stars, — no  earth, — no  thne, — 
No  check, — no  change, — no  good, — no  crime. 
But  silence, — and  a  stirless  breath — 
Which  neither  was  of  life — nor  death. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  139 

A  light — broke  in  upon  my  brain, — 

It  was  the  carol — of  a  bird; 
It  ceased, — and  then — it  came — again, 

The  siveetest  song — ear  ever  heard; 
And  mine — was  thankful — till  my  eyes 
Ran  over — with  the  glad  surprise; 
But  then — by  dull  degrees — came  back 
My  senses — to  their  wonted  track; 
I  saw  the  dungeon  walls — and  floor 
Close  slowly  round  me — as  before  ; 
I  saw  the  glimmer — of  the — sun, 
Ci'eeping — as  it  before  had  done ; 
But  through — the  crevice — where  it  came — 
That  bird — was  perched — as  fond — and  tame, 

And  tamer — than  upon  the  tree, — 
A  lovely  bird — with  azure  wings, 
And  song — that — said  a  thousand — things, 

And  seemed  to  say  them  all — for — me  I 

I  sometimes — deemed  that  it  might  be 
My  brother's  soul — come  down  to  me ; 
But  then — at  last — away  it  flew, — 
And  then — 't  was  m,ortal, — loell — I  knew, 
For  he  would  never  thus  have  flown, 
And  left  me  twice — so  doubly  lone. 

A  kind  of  change — came  in  my  fate ; 
My  keepers — grew  compassiotiate. 
I  know  not  what  had  made  them  so. 
They  were  inured — to  sights  of  woe; 
But  so — it  was; — my  broken  chain 
With  links — unfastened — did  remain ; 
And  it  was  liberty — to  stride 
Along  my  cell,  from  side  to  side, 
Avoiding  only,  as  I  trod, 
My  brothers'  graves — without  a  sod. 

I  made  a  footing — in  the  wall, — 

It  was  not  therefrom  to  escape. 
For  I  had  buried  one — and  all 

Who  loved  me — in  a  human  shape, 
And  the  whole  earth — would — henceforth — be 
A  wider  prison  unto  me ; 
But  I  was  curious  to  ascend 
To  my  barr'd  windows,  and  to  bend — 
Once  more  upon  the  inountains  high — 
The  quiet — of  a  loving  eye. 

I  saw  them,  and  they  were  the  sam£, 

They — were  not  changed — like  me — in  frame; 


HjQ  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

I  saw  their  thousand  years  of  snow — 
On  hiffh, — their  wide  long  lake — beloio; 
And  then — there  was  a  little  isle, 
Which — in  my  very /ace  did  smile, 
The  only  one — in  view. 

The  Jish  swam  by  the  castle  wall, 
And  they  seemed  joyous,  each — and  all; 
The  eagle — rode  the  rising  blast, — 
Methought — he  never  flew  so  fast 
As  then — to  me — he  seetned  to  fly; 
And  then — new  tears — came  in  my  eye, 
And  I  felt  troubled, — and  would  fain 
I  had  not  left  my  recent  chain  ; 
And  when  I  did  descend  again, 
The  darkness — of  my  dim  abode 
Fell  on  me — as  a  heavy  load ; 
It  was — as  is  a  new-dug  grave 
Closing  o'er  one — we  sought  to  save. 

At  last — men  came — to  set  us  free, 

I  asked  not  why,  and  recked  not  wherCy 

It  was — at  length — the  same — to  me, 

Fettered — or  fetterless — to  be ; 
I  learned  to  love  despair. 

And  thus,  when  they  appeared — at  last, 

And  all  my  bonds — aside  were  cast, 

These  heavy  walls — to  me — had  grown 

A  hermitage, — and  all — my  own  I 

And  half  I  felt — as  they  were  come 

To  tear  me — from  a  second  home ! 

With  spiders — I  had  friendship  made, 
And  watched  them — in  their  sullen  trade, — 
Had  seen  the  mice — by  moonlight  play, 
And  why  should  I — feel  less  than  they? 
We  were  all  inmates — of  one  place, 
And  /,  the  monarch — of  each  race. 
Had  power  to  kill, — yet,  strange  to  tell ! 
In  quiet — we  had  learned  to  dwell ; 
My  very  chains — and  / — grew  friends. 
So  m,uch — a  long  communion — tends 
To  make  us — what  we  are : — Even  I — 
Regained — my  freedom. — with  a  sigh. 

MUSIC. 

Of  music  what  shall  be  said?  Some  friend  and  enthusiast  says:  "Why,  it 
is  sound  and  harmony  that  please  the  senses  and  stir  up  pleasant  emotions  !  " 
But,  my  friend,  hear  Lady  Eastlake :  "  It  is  a  strange  thing,  the  subtle  form 
and  condition  of  music.  When  the  composer  has  conceived  it  in  his  mind, 
the  music  itself  is  not  there ;  when  he  has  committed  it  to  paper^  it  is  still  not 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  191 

there ;  when  he  has  called  together  his  orchestra  and  choristers  from  north  and 
south,  it  is  there — but  gone  again  when  they  disperse.  It  has  always,  as  it 
were,  to  put  on  mortality  afresh.  It  is  ever  being  born  anew,  but  to  die  away, 
and  leave  only  dead  notes  and  dumb  instruments  behind."  Is  the  exquisite 
presence,  then,  easily  definable?  We  believe  both  music  and  poetry  are 
spiritual  essences  which  touch  spiritual  springs  in  our  being,  and  that,  though 
we  feel  and  appreciate  them,  they  are  too  ethereal  for  outward  sense,  and  must 
forever  be  buried  in  the  depths  of  emotion  and  sensation,  only  to  be  fully  un- 
derstood when  this  mind  bursts  its  material  bonds,  and  reaches  up  into  the 
world  where  poetry  and  music  must  be  living,  visible  presences.  With  this 
belief,  have  we  not  the  evidence  of  the  better  life  constantly  within  us  ? 

MUSIC  OF  THE  OCEAN. 

"And  the  people  of  this  place  say  that  at  certain  seasons  beautiful  music  is  heard  from 
the  ocean." — Mavor's  Voyages, 

Lonely — and  wild — it  rose. 
That  strain  of  solemn  music — from  the  sea, 
As  though  the  bright  air  trembled — to  disclose 
An  ocean  mystery. 

Again — a  low,  sioeei  tone, — 
(Painting — in  micrmurs — on  the  listening  day,) 
Just  bade  the  excited  thought — its  presence  own, — 

Then — died  away. 

Once  more — the  gush  of  sound, — 
{Struggling — and  swelling — from  the  heaving /)iaw,) 
Thrilled  a  rich  peal — triumphantly  around. 

And.  Jled  again. 

O  boundless  deep !  we  know 
Thou  hast  strange  wonders — in  thy  gloom  concealed, 
Gems,— flashing  gems, — from  whose  unearthly  glow — 

Sunlight — is  sealed. 

And  an  eternal  spring — 
Showers  her  rich  colors — with  unsparing  hand, 
Where  coral  trees — their  graceful  branches  fling 

O'er  golden  sand. 

But  tell, — O  restless  main/ 
Who — are  the  dwellers — in  thy  world  beneath, 
That  thus — the  watery  realm — can  not  contain 

The  joy — they  breathe  ? 

Emblem — of  glorious  might! 
Are  thy  wild  children — like  thyself  arrayed, 
Strong — in  immortal — and  unchecked  delight, 

Which  can  not  fade  ? 

Or — to  mankind  allied. 
Toiling  with  woe — and  passion's  fiery  sting, 
Like  their  own  homes, — where  storms — or  peace  preside, 

As  the  winds  bring  ? 


192  MANUAL   OF  ELOCUTION. 

Alas,  for  human  thought ! 
How  does  it  flee  existence, — worn — and  old, 
To  win  companionship — with  beings — wrought 

Oi  finer  mold! 

'T  is  vain — the  reckless  waves 
Join  with  loud  revel — the  dim  ages  flown, 
But  keep  each  secret — of  their  hidden  caves 

Dark — and  unknown. 


MUSIC  OF  THE  NIGHT.    J.  Neal. 

There  are  harps  that  complain  to  the  presence  of  night, 

To  the  presence  of  night  alone — 

In  a  near  and  unchangeable  tone — 
Like  winds  full  of  sound  that  go  whispering  by, 
As  if  some  immortal  had  stooped  from  the  sky, 

And  breathed  out  a  blessing — and  flown ! 

Yes !  harps  that  complain  to  the  breezes  of  night, 

To  the  breezes  of  night  alone; 
Growing  fainter  and  fainter,  as  ruddy  and  bright 
The  sun  rolls  aloft  in  his  drapery  of  light. 

Like  a  conqueror,  shaking  his  brilliant  hair 

And  flourishing  robe  on  the  edge  of  the  air ! 
Burning  crimson  and  gold 
On  the  clouds  that  unfold, 
Breaking  onward  in  flame,  while  an  ocean  divides 
On  his  right  and  his  left ; — so  the  Thunderer  rides 
"When  he  cuts  a  bright  path  through  the  heaving  tides, 

Rolling  on  and  erect  in  a  charioting  throne ! 

Yes !  strings  that  lie  still  in  the  gushing  of  day, 

That  awake,  all  alive,  to  the  breezes  of  night. 
There  are  hautboys  and  flutes  too  forever  at  play 
"When  the  evening  is  near,  and  the  sun  is  away, 

Breathing  out  the  still  hymn  of  delight. 
These  strings  by  invisible  fingers  are  played — 

By  spirits  unseen  and  unknown, 
But  thick  as  the  stars,  all  this  music  is  made ; 
And  these  flutes  alone. 
In  one  sweet,  dreamy  tone, 
Are  ever  blown 
Forever  and  forever. 

The  livelong  night  ye  hear  the  sound, 

Like  distant  waters  flowing  round 

In  ringing  caves,  while  heaven  is  sweet 

"With  crowding  tunes,  like  halls 

"Where  fountain-music  falls 

And  rival  minstrels  meet. 


MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION.  193 

VOCAL  MUSIC. 

In  vocal  music  there  is  a  union  of  music  and  Invguagc — the  language  of 
affection  and  thought;  which  includes  the  whole  man.  Poetry  and  nmsic  are 
sister  arts;  their  relationship  being  one  of  heavcn-VikG  intimacy.  The  essence 
of  poetry  consists  in  fine  perceptions  and  vivid  expressions  of  that  subtle  and 
mysterious  analogy  that  exists  between  the  physical  and  moral  \wov\di\  and  it 
derives  its  power  from  the  correspondence  of  natural  things  with  spiritual. 
Its  effect  is  to  elevate  the  thoughts  and  affections  toward  a  higher  state  of 
existence. 

THE  MUSIC  OF  CHILDHOOD.    Jean  Inqelow. 

"When  I  hear  the  waters  fretting, 

When  I  see  the  chestnut  letting 
All  her  lovely  blossoms  falter  down,  I  think,  "Alas  the  day!" 

Once,  with  magical  sweet  singing. 

Blackbirds  set  the  woodland  ringing, 
That  wakes  no  more  while  April  hours  wear  themselves  away. 

In  our  hearts  fair  hope  lay  smiling, 

Sweet  as  air,  and  all  beguiling: 
And  there  hung  a  mist  of  blue-bells  on  the  slope  and  down  the  dell : 

And  we  talked  of  joy  and  splendor 

That  the  years  unborn  would  render, — 
And  the  blackbirds  helped  us  with  the  story,  for  they  knew  it  well. 

Piping,  fluting,  "  Bees  are  humming, 

April 's  here  and  summer  's  coming; 
Do  n't  forget  us  when  you  walk,  a  man  with  men,  in  pride  and  joy. 

Think  on  us  in  alleys  shady 

When  you  step  a  graceful  lady ; 
Por  no  fairer  days  have  we  to  hope  for,  little  girl  and  boy. 

"Laugh  and  play,  O  lisping  waters, 

Lull  our  downy  sons  and  daughters ; 
Come,  O  wind,  and  rock  thy  leafy  cradle  in  thy  wanderings  coy; 

When  they  wake,  we  '11  end  the  measure 

With  a  wild  sweet  cry  of  pleasure, 
And  a  '  Hey  down  derry,  let 's  be  merry,  little  girl  and  boy.' " 

A  LADY  SINGING.    Parsons. 
Oft  as  my  lady  sang  for  me 
The  song  of  the  lost  one  that  sleeps  by  the  sea, 
Of  the  grave  on  the  rock  and  the  cypress  tree, 
Strange  was  the  pleasure  that  over  me  stole, 
For  't  was  made  of  old  sadness  that  lives  in  my  soul. 

So  still  grew  my  heart  at  each  tender  word 
That  the  pulse  in  my  bosom  scarcely  stirred, 
And  I  hardly  breathed,  but  only  heard: 
Where  was  I  ?  —Not  in  the  world  of  men, 
Until  she  awoke  me  with  silence  again. 
13 


194  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Like  the  smell  of  the  vine  in  early  bloom 
Sprinkles  the  green  lane  with  sunny  perfume, 
Such  a  delicate  fragrance  filled  the  room; 
Whether  it  came  from  the  vine  without, 
Or  arose  from  her  presence,  I  dwell  in  doubt. 

Light  shadows  played  on  the  pictured  wall 
From  the  maples  that  fluttered  outside  the  hall, 
And  hindered  the  daylight, — yet  oh !  not  all; 
Too  little  for  that  all  the  forest  would  be, — 
Such  a  sunbeam  she  was  and  is  to  me! 

When  my  sense  returned,  as  the  song  was  o'er, 

I  fain  would  have  said  to  her,  "  Sing  it  once  more ; " 

But  soon  as  she  smiled  my  wish  I  forbore : 

Music  enough  in  her  look  I  found. 

And  the  hush  of  her  lip  seemed  sweet  as  the  sound. 

MUSIC  OF  THE  UNIVERSE.    Mrs.  F.  S.  Osgood. 

The  Father  spake!    In  grand  reverberations 
Through  space — rolled  on  the  mighty  music-tide^ 

While  to  its  low,  majestic  ■)nodidatio7is 
The  clouds  of  chaos — slowly  swept  aside. 

The  Father  spake  !    A  dream,  that  had  been  lying, 
Hushed  from  eternity — in  silence  there. 

Heard  the  pure  m.elody, — and  low  replying, 
Grew  to  that  m.usic — in  the  wondering  air. 

Grew  to  that  m,uric; — slowly,  grandly  waking, 
Till,  bathed  in  beauty,  it  became — a  worldl 
Led  by  his  voice,  its  spheric  pathway  taking. 

While  glorious  clouds — their  wings — around  it  furled. 

Nor  yet — has  ceased  that  sound, — his  love  revealing, 
Though  in  response — a  universe  moves  by! 

Throughout  eternity — its  echo  pealing. 

World  after  world — awakes  in  glad  reply  ! 

And  wheresoever  in  his  rich  creation 

Sweet  music  breathes,  in  wave,  or  earth,  or  soul, 

'T  is  but  the /ami  and/«r  reverberation 

Of  that  great — tim,e  to  which  the  planets — roll. 

PETER  PICKLE'S  PICTURE,  WITH  GOLD  FRAME.    Pl.\.nche. 

Old  men — young  women — wed  by  way  of  nurses; 
Young  mere — old  women — just — to  fill — their  ^w?"ses; 
Nor  young  men — only ;  for  't  is  my  belief, 

(Nor  do  I  think  the  metaphor — a  bold  one,) 
When  folks — (in  life) — turn  over  a  new  leaf, 

Why, — very  few — would  grumble  at  a  gold  one. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  595 

A  worthy  knight, — (yclept — Sir  Peter  Pickle, 

By  love — was  made  to  look  exceeding  glumpy; 
The  maid — whose  charms — had  poiver — his  heart  to  tickle 

Was  Miss  Cordelia — Caroline — Crumpy! 

This  said  Sir  Peter  was,— (as  you  shall  hear,) 

Although  a  knight, — as  poor — as  any  poet; 
But  handsome — as  Apollo  Belvidere, 

And  vain — Sir  Peter — seemed  full  well — to  know  it. 

No  wonder,  then, — th't  Miss  Cordelia — Crum,py 

Could  not — {unmoved)  hear  stich  a  lover  sue; 
Sweet, — pathetic  maiden, — -fat — and  stumpy; 

Green^yed, — red-haired,  and — (tur^ied) — of  sixty-two  I 

But  tell  me, — (Muse,) — what  charm  it  was^-could  tickle 
The  once — invincible — Sir  Peter  Pickle? 
Was  it  her  eyes  th't,  so  attached — to  one  day, 
Looked — piously — seven — different  ways — for  Sunday  ? 

Was  it  her  hump, — th"t  had  a  camel — suited? 

Her  left  leg — bandy  ?  or  her  right — ci«6-footed  ? 

Or  nose,  in  shape — so  like  a  liquor  funnel  ? 

Or  mouth — whose  width — might  shame — the  Hoosic  Tunnel  ? 

Was  it — the  beauties — of  hevface — combined, — 

A  face, — (since  similes — I  have  began  on,) 
Not — like  a  face — th't  I  can  call  to  mind. 

Except  the  one — heneath  the  rebel's  cannon! 

No, — gentle  frie7ids  !  although  such  heauties — might 
Have  warmed  the  bosom, — of  an  anchorite, — 
The  charms — th't  made  our  knight — all  milk — and  honey 
Was — that  infallible  specific — MONET ! 

Peter,— (whom  want  of  brass — had  made  more  brazen,) 
In  movitig  terms — began  his  love — to  blazon; 
Sigh — after  sigh — in  quick  succession — rushes, — 

Nor — are  the  labors  of  his  hmgs — in  vain; 
Her  cheeks — soon  crimson — with  consenting  blushes, — 

Red — as  the  chimiiey-pot — ^just  after  rain! 

The  license — bought, — he  marries  her — in  haste, 

Brings  home — his  bride, — and  gives  his  friends — a  gay  day; 

All  his  relations,— (wondering — at  his  taste,) 

Vowed — he  had  better  had — "  The  pig-faced  lady!" 

Struck — with  this  monstrous  heap — of  7ooman-k'\nd, 

The  thought — of — (money)  never  crossed  their  m,ind. 

The  dinner — o'er, — the  ladies — and  the  bride — 

Retired, — and  wine — and  chat — went  round  jocosely ; 

Sir  Peter's  brother — took  the  knight  aside, — 
And  questioned  him — about  the  matter — closely. 


196  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

'■'■  Confound  it,  (Peter!)  how  came  you — to  pitch 

On  such  an  ugli/, — squlnt'mg, — squally  witch? 

A  man — like  you,  (so  handsome — and  so  knowing,) — 

Your  wits,  (my  friend,)  must  surely — be  &  going ! 

Who — could  have  thought  you — such  a  tasteless  oaf, — 

To  wed  a  lump — of  odd-come — shorts  and  hits, — 

That  Madam  Nature, — (in  her  merry ^i!s,) 

'H.&di  jumbled — into  something — like  &face! 

With  skin — as  black — as  if  she  charcoal  fed  on, — 

Crooked, — and  crusty — like  an  outside  loaf ; 

A  remnant  of  an — ourang-outang  face, 

Eve's — grand-moi\iQV — with  the  serpenfs  head  on ! 

What  spell — could — into  such  a  hobble — throw  you?" 

"Just — step  up  stairs," — (says  Peter,)  "and  I'll  show  you." 

Up  stairs — they  ivent. — '^ There — there  's  her  ^ic^we /    Say, 

Is  it  not  like  her, — Sir?     Y  our  judgment, — pray! 

'■'■Like  her,  (Sir  Peter!)  take  it  not  uncivil, — 

'T  is  like  her, — and — as  ugly — as — (the  devil!) 

y^'ith.  just  her  squinting  leer; — but, — (Peter,)  what 

A  very — handsome  frame — it 's  got ! 

So  richly — gilt, — and  so  superbly — icrought!" 

"You  re  right," — (Sir  Peter  says,)  "'t  was  the  FRAME  th't  caught! 

I  grant — my  wife — is  iigly, — squabby, — old, — 

But  still — she^j/eases, — being  set — in  gold! 

Let  others — for  the  picture — feel  aflame; 

I, — (my  good  brother,)  married — for — the  frame!" 

PRESS  ON! 

This — is  a  speech, — brief, — but  full  of  inspiration — and  opening  the  way  to 
all  victory.  The  mystery — of  Napoleon's  career — was  this, — under  all  diffi- 
culties—  and  discouraganents, — "press  on!"  It  solves  the  problem  —  of  all 
heroes; — it  is  the  rule — by  which  to  weigh — [rightly)  all  wonderful  successes — 
and  triumphal  marches — to  fortune  and  genius.  It  should  be  the  motto  of 
all, — old — and  young, — high — and  low, — fortunate — and  ?mfortunate, — so  called. 

"Press  on!"  Never  despair;  never  be  discouraged, — however  stormy  the 
heavens, — however  dark  the  way;  however  great  the  difficulties — and  repeated — 
the  failures, — "press  on!" 

1.^  fortune  —  has  played /aZse  with  thee — to-day, — do  thou — play  true — for 
thyself — to-morrow.  If  thy  riches — have  taken  wings, — and  left  thee,  do  not 
weep  thy  life  away;  but  be  up — and  doing,  and  retrieve  the  loss — by  new  ener- 
gies— and  action.  If  an  unfortunate  bargain  has  deranged  thy  business, — do 
not  fold  thy  arms, — and  give  up  all — as  lost;  but  stir  thj^self — and  work  the 
more  vigorously. 

If  those — whom  thou  hast  trusted — have  betrayed  thee,  —  do  not  be  dis- 
couraged,— do  not  idlywee\>, — but  '■'■press  on!"  find  others;  or,  what  is  better, — 
learn  to  live — within  thyself.  Let  the  foolishness — of  yesterday — make  thee 
wise  —  to-day.  If  thy  affections  —  have  been  poured  out — like  loater — in  the 
desert,  do  not  sit  down, — and  perish  of  thirst,  hut  press  on;  a  beautiful  oasis  is 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  I97 

before  thee, — and  thou  mayst  ?-eac/t — it  if  thou  wilt.  If  another — has  hccn  falae 
to  thee, — do  not  thou  increase  the  evil  —  by  being  faLse — to  ihyaelf.  Do  not 
say — the  world  hath  lost  its  j'oetry — and  beauty ;  't  is  not  so;  and  even  if  it  be 
so, — make  thine  own  poetry — and  beauty — by  a  brave, — a  true, — and, — (above 
all,) — a  religious  life. 

THE  BIG  SHOE.    Mns.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney. 

"  There  was  an  old  woman 

Who  lived  in  a  shoe  ; 
She  had  so  many  children 

She  did  n't  know  what  to  do. 
To  some  she  gave  broth, 

And  to  some  she  gave  bread, 
And  some  she  whipped  soundly, 

And  sent  them  to  bed." 

Do  you  find  out  the  likeness? 

A  portly  old  dame, — 
The  mother  of  millions, — 

Brittania,  by  name: 
And, — howe'er  it  may  strike  you 

In  reading  the  song, — 
Not  stinted  in  space 

For  bestowing  the  throng, 
Since  the  sun  can  himself 

Hardly  manage  to  go, 
In  a  day  and  a  night 

From  the  heel  to  the  toe. 

On  the  arch  of  the  instep 

She  builds  up  her  throne, 
And  with  seas  rolling  under, 

She  sits  there — alone; 
"With  her  heel  at  the  foot 

Of  the  Himmalehs  planted, 
And  her  toe  in  the  icebergs, 

Unchilled  and  undaunted. 

Yet  though  justly  of  all 

Her  fine  family  proud, 
'T  is  no  light  undertaking 

To  rule  such  a  crowd ; 
Not  to  mention  the  trouble 

Of  seeing  them  fed, — 
And  dispensing  vi\i\y  justice 

The  broth — and  the  bread. 

Some  will  seize  upon  one, — 

Some  are  left  with  the  other,— 
And  so  the  whole  household 

Gets  into  a  pother. 
But  the  rigid  old  dame 

Has  a  summary  way 
Of  her  own  when  she  finds 
,  There  is  mischief  to  pay  I 


198  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

She  just  takes  up  the — rod — 

As  she  lays  down  the  spoon, 
.  And  makes  their  rebellious  backs 

Tingle  right  soon. 
Then  she  bids  them,  while  yet 

The  sore  smarting  they  feel, 
To  lie  down,  and  go  to  sleep 

Under  her  heel ! 

Only  once  was  she  posed, — 

When  the  little  boy — Sam, — 
Who  had  always  before 

Been  as  meek  as  a  lamb, 
Refused — to  take  tea 

As  his  mother  had  bid. 
And  returned  saucy  answers 

Because  he  was — chid. 

Not  content  even  then. 

He  cut  loose  from  the  throne, 
And  set  about  making 

A  shoe  of  his  own ; 
Which  succeeded  so  well, 

And  was  filled  up  so  fast, 
That  the  world  in  amazement 

Confessed  at  the — last, — 
Looking  on  at  the  work 

With  a  gasp  and  a  stare, — 
That  't  was  hard  to  tell  which 

Would  be  best  of  the  pair. 

Side  by  side  they,  are  standing 

Together  to-day; 
Side  by  side  may  they  keep 

Their  strong  foothold  for  aye ! — 
And  beneath  the  broad  sea. 

Whose  blue  depths  intervene, 
May  the  finishing  string 

Lie  unbroken  between  I 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  I99 


EXEECISES  FOE  EEADING. 


I.— CLANDESTINE    INTEKVIEWS. 

Sam  continued  to  sit  on  the  large  stone,  meditating  upon  what  was  best  to 
be  done,  and  revolving  in  his  mind  a  plan  for  knocking  at  all  the  doors  within 
live  miles  of  Bristol,  taking  them  at  a  hundred  and  fifty  or  two  hundred  a  day, 
and  endeavoring  to  find  Miss  Arabella  bj'^  that  expedient,  when  accident  all  of 
a  sudden  threw  in  his  way  what  he  might  have  set  there  for  a  twelvemonth — 
and  yet  not  found  without  it. 

Into  the  lane  where  he  sat  opened  three  or  four  garden  gates,  belonging 
to  as  many  houses  which,  though  detached  from  each  other,  were  only  sepa- 
rated by  their  gardens.  As  these  were  large  and  long,  and  well  planted  with 
trees,  the  houses  were  not  only  at  some  distance  off,  but  the  greater  part  of 
them  were  nearly  concealed  from  view.  Sam  was  sitting  with  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  dust-heap  outside  the  next  gate  to  that  by  which  the  groom  had 
disappeared,  profoundly  turning  over  in  his  mind  the  difficulties  of  his  present 
undertaking,  when  the  gate  opened,  and  a  female  servant  came  out  into  the 
lane  to  shake  some  bed-side  carpets. 

Sam  was  very  busy  with  his  own  thoughts,  so  that  it  is  probable  he  would 
have  taken  no  more  notice  of  the  young  woman  than  just  raising  his  head  and 
remarking  that  she  had  a  very  neat  and  pretty  figure,  if  his  feelings  of  gal- 
lantry had  not  been  most  strongly  roused  by  observing  that  she  had  no  one 
to  help  her,  and  that  the  carpets  seemed  too  heavy  for  her  single  strength. 
Mr.  Weller  was  a  gentleman  of  great  gallantry  in  his  own  way,  and  he  no 
sooner  remarked  this  circumstance  than  he  hastilj-  rose  from  the  large  stone, 
and  advanced  toward  her. 

"My  dear,"  said  Sam,  sliding  up  with  an  air  of  great  respect,  "you'  11  spile 
that  wery  pretty  figure  out  o'  all  perportion  if  you  shake  them  carpets  by 
yourself.     Let  me  help  you." 

The  young  lady,  who  had  been  coyly  affecting  not  to  know  that  a  gentle- 
man was  so  near,  turned  round  as  Sam  spoke — no  doubt  (indeed  she  said  so 
afterward)  to  decline  this  off"er  from  a  perfect  stranger — when  instead  of 
speaking,  she  started  back,  and  uttered  a  half-suppressed  scream.  Sam  was 
scarcely  less  staggered,  for  in   the  countenance  of  the  well-shaped  female 


200  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

servant  he  beheld  the  very  features  of  his  Valentine — the  pretty  housemaid 
from  Mr.  Nupkins's. 

"Wy,  Mary  my  dear !  "  said  Sam. 

"Lauk,  Mr.  Weller,"  said  Mary,  "how  you  do  frighten  one!" 

Sam  made  no  verbal  answer  to  this  complaint,  nor  can  we  precisely  say 
what  reply  he  did  make.  We  merelj'  know  that  after  a  short  pause  Mary  said, 
"  Lor,  do  adun,  Mr.  Weller,"  and  that  his  hat  had  fallen  off  a  few  moments 
before — from  both  of  which  tokens  we  should  be  disposed  to  infer  that  one 
kiss,  or  more,  had  passed  between  the  parties. 

"Why,  how  did  you  come  here?"  said  Mary,  when  the  conversation,  to 
which  this  interruption  had  been  offered,  was  resumed. 

"  O'  course  I  came  to  look  arter  you,  my  darlin,"  replied  Mr.  Weller;  for 
once  permitting  his  passion  to  get  the  better  of  his  veracity. 

"And  how  did  you  know  I  was  here?"  inquired  Mary.  "Who  could  have 
told  you  that  I  took  another  service  at  Ipswich, — and  that  they  afterward 
moved  all  the  way  here?     Who  could  have  told  you  that,  Mr.  Weller?" 

"Ah,  to  be  sure,"  said  Sam,  with  a  cunning  look,  "that's  the  pint.  Who 
could  ha'  told  me?" 

"  It  was  n't  Mr.  Muzzle,  was  it?  "  inquired  Mary. 

"  Oh,  no,"  replied  Sam,  with  a  solemn  shake  of  the  head,  "  it  war  n't  him." 

"  It  must  have  been  the  cook,"  said  Mary. 

"C  course  it  must,"  said  Sam. 

"Well,  I  never  heard  the  like  of  that?"  exclaimed  Mary. 

"  No  more  did  I,"  said  Sam.  "  But  Mary,  my  dear — "  here  Sam's  manners 
grew  extremely  affectionate — "  Mary,  my  dear,  I  've  got  another  affair  in  hand 
as  is  wery  pressin'.  There  's  one  o'  my  governor's  friends — Mr.  Winkle — you 
remember  him." 

"Him  in  the  green  coat?"  said  Mary.     "Oh, yes,  I  remember  him." 

"Well,"  said  Sam,  "he's  in  a  horrid  state  o'  love;  reg'larly  comfoozled, 
ftnd  done  over  vith  it." 

"  Lor !  "  interposed  Mary. 

"Yes,"  said  Sam;  "but  that's  nothin',  if  we  could  only  find  the  young 
'ooman" — and  here  Sam,  with  many  digressions  upon  the  personal  beauty 
of  Mary,  and  the  unspeakable  tortures  he  had  experienced  since  he  last  saw 
her,  gave  a  faithful  account  of  Mr.  Winkle's  present  predicament. 

"Well,"  said  Mary,  "  I  never  did  !  " 

"O'  course  not,"  said  Sam,  "and  nobody  never  did,  nor  never  vill  neither; 
and  here  am  I  a  walkin'  about  like  the  wanderin'  Jew — a  sportin'  character 
you  have  perhaps  heerd  on,  Mary,  my  dear,  as  wos  always  doin'  a  match  agin' 
time,  and  never  vent  to  sleep — looking  arter  this  Miss  Arabella  Allen." 

"Miss  who?"  said  Mary,  in  great  astonishment. 

"  Miss  Arabella  Allen,"  said  Sam. 

"  Goodness  gracious !  "  said  Mary,  pointing  to  the  garden-door  which  the 
sulky  groom  had  locked  after  him.  "Why  it 's  that  very  house;  she's  been 
living  there  these  six  weeks.  Their  upper  housemaid,  which  is  lady's  maid 
too,  told  me  all  about  it  over  the  wash-house  palins  before  the  family  was  out 
of  bed,  one  mornin'." 

"Wot,  the  wery  next  door  to  you?"  said  Sam. 

"The  very  next,"  replied  Mary. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  201 

Mr.  Weller  was  so  deeply  overcome  at  receiving  this  intelligence  that  he 
found  it  absolutely  necessary  to  cling  to  his  fair  informant  for  support,  and 
divers  little  love  passages  had  passed  between  them  before  he  was  sufficiently 
collected  to  return  to  the  subject. 

"Veil,"  said  Sam  at  length,  "if  this  don't  beat  cock-fightin',  nothin'  never 
vill,  as  the  Lord  Mayor  said  ven  the  chief  secretary  o'  state  proposed  his 
missis's  health  arter  dinner.  That  wery  next  house!  Wy,  I  've  got  a  message 
to  her  as  I've  been  a  tryin'  all  day  to  deliver." 

"Ah,"  said  Mary;  "but  you  can  't  deliver  it  now,  because  she  only  walks  in 
the  garden  in  the  evening,  and  then  only  for  a  very  little  time ;  she  never  goes 
out  without  the  old  lady." 

Sam  ruminated  for  a  few  moments,  and  finallj'  hit  upon  the  following  plan 
of  operations:  that  he  should  return  just  at  dusk — the  time  at  which  Arabella 
invariably  took  her  walk — and,  being  admitted  by  Mary  into  the  garden  of  the 
house  to  which  she  belonged,  contrive  to  scramble  up  the  wall,  beneath  the 
overhanging  boughs  of  a  large  pear-tree,  which  would  effectually  screen  him 
from  observation ;  there  deliver  his  message,  and  arrange,  if  possible,  an  in- 
terview on  behalf  of  Mr.  "Winkle  for  the  ensuing  evening  at  the  same  hour. 
Having  made  this  arrangement  with  great  dispatch,  he  assisted  Mary  in  the 
long-deferred  occupation  of  shaking  the  carpets. 

It  is  not  half  as  innocent  a  thing  as  it  looks,  that  shaking  little  pieces  of 
carpet — at  least,  there  may  be  no  great  harm  in  the  shaking,  but  the  folding 
is  a  verj'  insidious  process.  So  long  as  the  shaking  lasts,  and  the  two  parties 
are  kept  the  carpet's  length  apart,  it  is  as  innocent  an  amusement  as  can  well 
be  devised,  but  when  the  folding  begins,  and  the  distance  between  them  gets 
gradually  lessened  from  one  half  its  former  length  to  a  quarter,  and  then  to 
an  eighth,  and  then  to  a  sixteenth,  and  then  to  a  thirty-second  if  the  carpet  be 
long  enough,  it  becomes  dangerous.  We  do  not  know  to  a  nicety  how  many 
pieces  of  carpet  were  folded  in  this  instance,  but  we  can  venture  to  state  that  as 
many  pieces  as  there  were,  so  many  times  did  Sam  kiss  the  pretty  housemaid. 

Mr.  Weller  regaled  himself  with  moderation  at  the  nearest  tavern  until 
it  was  nearly  dusk,  and  then  returned  to  the  lane  without  the  thoroughfare. 
Having  been  admitted  into  the  garden  by  Mary,  and  having  received  from 
that  lady  sundry  admonitions  concerning  the  safety  of  his  limbs  and  neck,  Sam 
mounted  into  the  pear-tree  to  wait  until  Arabella  should  come  into  sight.  ► 

He  waited  so  long  without  this  anxiously  expected  event  occurring  that  he 
began  to  think  it  was  not  going  to  take  place  at  all,  when  he  heard  light  foot- 
steps upon  the  gravel,  and  immediately  afterward  beheld  Arabella  walking 
pensively  down  the  garden.  As  soon  as  she  came  nearly  below  the  tree,  Sam 
began,  by  way  of  gently  indicating  his  presence,  to  make  sundry  diabolical 
noises,  similar  to  those  which  would  probably  be  natural  to  a  person  who  had 
been  afflicted  with  a  combination  of  inflammatory  sore-throat,  croup,  and 
hooping-cough  from  his  earliest  infancy. 

Upon  this  the  young  lady  cast  a  hurried  glance  toward  the  spot  from 
whence  the  dreadful  sounds  proceeded ;  and  her  previous  alarm  being  not  at 
all  diminished  when  she  saw  a  man  among  the  branches,  she  would  most 
certainly  have  decamped,  and  alarmed  the  house,  had  not  fear  fortunately 
deprived  her  of  the  power  of  moving,  and  caused  her  to  sink  down  on  a 
garden-seat  which  happened  by  good  luck  to  be  near  at  hand. 


202  MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION. 

"  She  's  a  goin'  off,"  soliloquized  Sam,  in  great  perplexity.  "Wot  a  thing  it 
is,  as  these  here  young  creeturs  will  go  a  faintin'  avay  just  ven  they  ought  n't 
to.     Here,  young  'ooman.  Miss  Sawbones,  Mrs.  Vinkle,  do  n't. 

Whether  it  was  the  magic  of  Mr.  Winkle's  name,  or  the  coolness  of  the 
open  air,  or  some  recollection  of  Mr.  Weller's  voice,  that  revived  Arabelhi, 
matters  not.  She  raised  her  head,  and  languidly  inquired — "Who  's  that,  and 
what  do  you  want?" 

"  Hush,"  said  Sam,  swinging  himself  on  to  the  wall,  and  crouching  there  in 
as  small  a  compass  as  he  could  reduce  himself  to,  "  only  me,  Miss,  only  me." 

"  Mr.  Pickwick's  servant !  "  said  Arabella,  earnestly. 

"  The  wery  same,  Miss,"  replied  Sam.  "  Here  's  Mr.  Vinkle  reg'larly  sewed 
up  with  desperation,  Miss." 

"Ah!"  said  Arabella,  drawing  nearer  the  wall. 

"Ah,  indeed,"  said  Sam.  "Ve  thought  ve  should  ha'  been  obliged  to 
straight-veskit  him  last  night;  he's  been  a  ravin'  all  day,  and  he  says  if  he 
can  't  see  you  afore  to-morrow  night 's  over,  he  vishes  he  may  be — somethin' 
unpleasanted  if  he  do  n't  drown  hisself." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  Mr.  Weller,"  said  Arabella,  clasping  her  hands. 

"  That 's  wot  he  says,  Miss,"  replied  Sam,  coolly.  "  He 's  a  man  of  his 
word,  and  it 's  my  opinion  he  '11  do  it,  Miss.  He 's  heerd  about  you  from  the 
Sawbones  in  barnacles." 

"  From  my  brother  !  "  said  Arabella,  having  some  faint  recognition  of  Sam's 
description. 

"  I  do  n't  rightly  know  which  is  your  brother,"  replied  Sam.  "  Is  it  the 
dirtiest  vun  o'  the  two?  " 

"Yes,  yes,  Mr.  Weller,"  returned  Arabella,  "go  on.     Make  haste,  pray." 

"Veil,  Miss,"  said  Sam,  "he's  heerd  all  about  it  from  him;  and  it's  the 
gov'nor's  opinion  that  if  you  do  n't  see  him  wery  quick,  the  Sawbones  as 
we  've  been  a  speakin'  on  'ull  get  as  much  extra  lead  in  his  head  as  '11  rayther 
damage  the  dewelopment  o'  the  orgins  if  they  ever  put  it  in  spirits  artevards." 

"  Oh,  what  can  I  do  to  prevent  these  dreadful  quarrels ! "  exclaimed 
Arabella. 

"  It 's  the  suspicion  of  a  priory  'tachment  as  is  the  cause  of  it  all,"  replied 
Sam.     "You  'd  better  see  him.  Miss." 

"But  how? — where?"  cried  Arabella.  " I  dare  not  leave  the  house.alone. 
My  brother  is  so  unkind,  so  unreasonable.  I  know  how  strange  my  talking 
thus  to  j'ou  must  appear,  Mr.  Weller,  but  I  am  very,  very  unhappy — "  and 
here  poor  Arabella  wept  so  bitterly  that  Sam  grew  chivalrous. 

"  It  may  seem  wery  strange  talkin'  to  me  about  these  here  affairs.  Miss," 
said  Sam,  with  great  vehemence;  "but  all  I  can  say  is,  that  I'm  not  only 
ready,  but  villin'  to  do  anythin'  as  '11  make  matters  agreeable ;  and  if  chuckin' 
either  o'  them  Sawbones  out  o'  winder  'ull  do  it,  I  'm  the  man."  As  Sam 
Weller  said  this,  he  tucked  up  his  wristbands,  at  the  imminent  hazard  of  falling 
off  the  wall  in  so  doing,  to  intimate  his  readiness  to  set  to  work  immediately. 

Flattering  as  these  professions  of  good  feeling  were,  Arabella  resolutely 
declined  (most  unaccountably,  as  Sam  thought)  to  avail  herself  of  them.  For 
some  time  she  strenuously  refused  to  grant  Mr.  Winkle  the  interview  Sam  had 
so  pathetically  requested;  but  at  length,  when  the  conversation  threatened  to 
be  interrupted  by  the  unwelcome  arrival  of  a  third  party,  she  hurriedly  gave 


MANUAL   OP   ELOCUTION.  208 

him  to  understand,  with  many  professions  of  gratitude,  that  it  was  barely 
possible  she  might  be  in  the  garden  an  hour  later  next  evening.  Sam  under- 
stood this  perfectly  well,  and  Arabella,  bestowing  upon  him  one  of  her  sweetest 
smiles,  tripped  gracefully  away,  leaving  Mr.  Weller  in  a  state  of  very  great 
admiration  of  her  charms,  both  personal  and  mental. 

Having  descended  in  safety  from  the  wall,  and  not  forgotten  to  devote  a 
few  moments  to  his  own  particular  business  in  the  same  department,  Mr. 
Weller  then  made  the  best  of  his  way  back  to  the  Bush,  where  his  prolonged 
absence  had  occasioned  much  speculation  and  some  alarm. 

"We  must  be  careful,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  after  listening  attentively  to 
Sam's  tale,  "  not  for  our  own  sakes,  but  for  that  of  the  young  lady.  We  must 
be  very  cautious." 

"  We!"  said  Mr.  Winkle,  with  marked  emphasis. 

Mr.  Pickwick's  momentary  look  of  indignation  at  the  tone  of  this  remark 
subsided  into  his  characteristic  expression  of  benevolence  as  he  replied, 

"We,  sir!     I  shall  accompany  you." 

"You !"  said  Mr.  Winkle. 

"I"  replied  Mr.  Pickwick  mildly.  "In  affording  you  this  interview  the 
young  lady  has  taken  a  natural,  perhaps,  but  still  a  very  imprudent  step.  If 
I  am  present  at  the  meeting — a  mutual  friend,  who  is  old  enough  to  be  the 
father  of  both  parties — the  voice  of  calumny  can  never  be  raised  against  her 
hereafter." 

Mr.  Pickwick's  eyes  lightened  with  honest  exultation  at  his  own  foresight, 
as  he  spoke  thus.  Mr.  Winkle  was  touched  at  this  little  trait  of  his  delicate 
respect  for  the  young  protege  of  his  friend,  and  took  his  hand  with  a  feeling  of 
regard  akin  to  veneration. 

"You  shall  go"  said  Mr.  Winkle. 

"I  will,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick.  "Sam,  have  my  great-coat  and  shawl  ready, 
and  order  a  conveyance  to  be  at  the  door  to-morrow  evening  rather  earlier 
than  is  absolutely  necessary,  in  order  that  we  may  be  in  good  time." 

Mr.  Weller  touched  his  hat  as  an  earnest  of  his  obedience,  and  withdrew  to 
make  all  needful  preparations  for  the  expedition. 

The  coach  was  punctual  to  the  time  appointed,  and  Mr.  Weller,  after  duly 
installing  Mr.  Pickwick  and  Mr.  Winkle  inside,  took  his  seat  on  the  box  by 
the  driver.  They  alighted,  as  had  been  agreed  on,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
from  the  place  of  rendezvous,  and  desiring  the  coachman  to  await  their  return 
proceeded  the  remaining  distance  on  foot. 

It  was  at  this  stage  of  the  undertaking  that  Mr.  Pickwick,  with  many  smiles 
and  various  other  indications  of  great  self-satisfaction,  produced  from  one  of 
his  coat-pockets  a  dark  lantern,  with  which  he  had  specially  provided  himself 
for  the  occasion,  and  the  great  mechanical  beauty  of  which  he  proceeded  to 
explain  to  Mr.  Winkle  as  they  walked  along,  to  the  no  small  surprise  of  the 
few  stragglers  they  met. 

"  I  should  have  been  the  better  for  something  of  this  kind  in  my  last  garden 
expedition  at  night,  eh,  Sam  ?  "  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  looking  good-humoredly 
round  at  his  follower,  who  was  trudging  behind. 

"  Wery  nice  things  if  they're  managed  properly,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Weller; 
"but  if  you  don't  want  to  be  seen  I  think  they're  more  useful  arter  the  can- 
dle's gone  out  than  ven  it 's  alight?" 


204  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Mr.  Pickwick  appeared  struck  by  Sam's  remark,  for  he  put  the  lantern  into 
his  pocket  again,  and  they  walked  on  in  silence. 

"  Down  here,  sir,"  said  Sam.    "  Let  me  lead  the  vay.    This  is  the  lane,  sir." 

Down  the  lane  they  went,  and  dark  enough  it  was.  Mr.  Pickwick  brought 
out  the  lantern  once  or  twice  as  they  groped  their  way  along,  and  threw  a  very 
brilliant  little  tunnel  of  light  before  them,  about  a  foot  in  diameter.  It  was 
very  pretty  to  look  at,  but  seemed  to  have  the  effect  of  rendering  surrounding 
objects  rather  darker  than  before. 

At  length  they  arrived  at  the  large  stone,  and  here  Sam  recommended  his 
master  and  Mr.  Winkle  to  seat  themselves,  while  he  reconnoitred  and  ascer- 
tained whether  Mary  was  yet  in  waiting. 

After  an  absence  of  five  or  ten  minutes  Sam  returned  to  say  that  the  gate 
was  opened,  and  all  quiet.  Following  him  with  stealthy  tread,  Mr.  Pickwick 
and  Mr.  Winkle  soon  found  themselves  in  the  garden.  Here  every  body  said 
"Hush!"  a  good  many  times;  and  that  being  done  no  one  seemed  to  have  any 
very  distinct  apprehension  of  what  was  to  be  done  next. 

"Is  Miss  Allen  in  the  garden  yet,  Mary?"  inquired  Mr.  Winkle,  much 
agitated. 

"I  don't  know,  sir,"  replied  the  pretty  housemaid.  "The  best  thing  to  be 
done,  sir,  will  be  for  Mr.  Weller  to  give  you  a  hoist  up  into  the  tree,  and  per- 
haps Mr.  Pickwick  will  have  the  goodness  to  see  that  nobody  comes  up  the 
lane,  while  I  watch  at  the  other  end  of  the  garden.  Goodness  gracious,  what 's 
that?" 

"  That  'ere  blessed  lantern  'ill  be  the  death  on  us  all,"  exclaimed  Sam, 
peevishly.  "  Take  care  what  you  're  a  doin'  on,  sir,  you're  a  sendin'  a  blaze  o' 
light  right  into  the  back  parlor  vinder." 

"  Dear  me !  "  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  turning  hastily  aside,  "  I  did  'nt  mean  to 
do  that." 

"  Now  it's  in  the  next  house,  sir,"  remonstrated  Sam. 

"  Bless  my  heart!  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Pickwick,  turning  round  again. 

"Now  it's  in  the  stable,  and  they'll  think  the  place  is  afire,"  said  Sam. 
"Shut  it  up,  sir,  can  't  you?  " 

"  It 's  the  most  extraordinary  lantern  I  ever  met  with  in  all  my  life ! " 
exclaimed  Mr.  Pickwick,  greatly  bewildered  by  the  effects  he  had  so  vminten- 
tionally  produced.     "  I  never  saw  such  a  powerful  reflector." 

"It'll  be  vun  too  powerful  for  us  if  you  keep  blazin'  avay  in  that  manner, 
sir,"  replied  Sam,  as  Mr.  Pickwick,  after  various  unsuccessful  efforts,  managed 
to  close  the  slide.  "There's  the  young  lady's  footsteps.  Now,  Mr.  Vinkle, 
sir,  up  vith  you." 

"Stop,  stop!  "  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  "I  must  speak  to  her  first.  Help  me  up, 
Sam." 

"  Gently,  sir,"  said  Sam,  planting  his  head  against  the  wall,  and  making  a 
platform  of  his  back.  "Step  a  top  o'  that  'ere  flower-pot,  sir.  Now,  then,  up 
vith  you." 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  shall  hurt  you,  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick. 

"  Never  mind  me,  sir,"  replied  Sam.  "  Lend  him  a  hand,  Mr.  Vinkle,  sir. 
Steady,  sir,  steady ;  that 's  the  time  o'  day." 

As  Sam  spoke,  Mr.  Pickwick,  by  exertions  almost  supernatural  in  a  gentle- 
man of  his  years  and  weight,  contrived  to  get  upon  Sam's  back;  and  Sam 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  205 

gently  raising  himself  up,  and  Mr.  Pickwick  holding  on  fast  hy  the  top  of  the 
wall,  while  Mr.  Winkle  clasped  him  tight  by  the  legs,  they  contrived  by  these 
means  to  bring  his  spectacles  just  above  the  level  of  the  coping. 

"My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  looking  over  the  wall,  and  catching  sight 
of  Arabella  on  the  other  side,  "don't  be  frightened,  my  dear,  'tis  only  me." 

"  Oh,  pray  go  away,  Mr.  Pickwick,"  said  Arabella.  "  Tell  them  all  to  go 
away,  I  am  so  dreadfully  frightened.  Dear,  dear,  Mr.  Pickwick,  do  n't  stop 
there;  you'll  fall  down  and  kill  yourself,  I  know  you  will." 

"Now,  pray  don't  alarm  yourself,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  soothingly. 
"  There  is  not  the  least  cause  for  fear,  I  assure  you.  Stand  firm,  Sam,"  said  Mr. 
Pickwick,  looking  down. 

"All  right,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Weller.  "  Don't  be  longer  than  you  can  con- 
weniently  help,  sir.     You  're  rayther  heavy." 

"Only  another  moment,  Sam,"  replied  Mr.  Pickwick. 

"  I  merely  wished  you  to  know,  my  dear,  that  I  should  not  have  allowed  my 
young  friend  to  see  you  in  this  clandestine  way  if  the  situation  in  which  you 
are  placed  had  left  him  any  alternative;  and  lest  the  impropriety  of  this  step 
should  cause  you  any  uneasiness,  my  love,  it  may  be  a  satisfaction  to  you  to 
know  that  I  am  present;  that's  all,  my  dear." 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Pickwick,  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  kindness 
and  consideration,"  replied  Arabella,  drying  her  tears  with  her  handkerchief. 
She  would  probably  have  said  much  more  had  not  Mr.  Pickwick's  head  disap- 
peared with  great  swiftness,  in  consequence  of  a  false  step  on  Sam's  shoulder, 
which  brought  him  suddenly  to  the  ground.  He  was  up  again  in  an  instant, 
however,  and  bidding  Mr.  "Winkle  make  haste  and  get  the  interview  over,  ran 
out  into  the  lane  to  keep  watch  with  all  the  courage  and  ardor  of  a  youth. 
Mr.  Winkle  himself,  inspired  by  the  occasion,  was  on  the  wall  in  a  moment, 
merely  pausing  to  request  Sam  to  be  careful  of  his  master. 

"  I  '11  take  care  on  him,  sir,"  replied  Sam.     "  Leave  him  to  me." 

"Where  is  he?     What's  he  doing,  Sam?"  inquired  Mr.  Winkle. 

"  Bless  his  old  gaiters,"  rejoined  Sam,  looking  out  at  the  garden  door,  "he's 
a  keepin'  guard  in  the  lane  vitli  that  'ere  dark  lantern,  like  a  amiable  Guy 
Fawkes.  I  never  see  such  a  fine  creetur  in  my  days.  Bless'd  if  I  do  n't  think 
his  heart  must  ha'  been  born  five-and-twenty  year  arter  his  body,  at  least!" 

Mr.  Winkle  stayed  not  to  hear  the  encomium  upon  his  friend.  He  had 
dropped  from  the  wall,  thrown  himself  at  Arabella's  feet,  and  by  this  time  was 
pleading  the  sincerity  of  his  passion  with  an  eloquence  worthy  even  of  Mr. 
Pickwick  himself. 

While  these  things  were  going  on  in  the  open  air,  an  elderly  gentleman  of 
scientific  attainments  was  seated  in  his  library,  two  or  three  houses  off,  writing 
a  philosophical  treatise,  and  ever  and  anon  moistening  his  clay  and  his  labors 
with  a  glass  of  claret  from  a  venerable-looking  bottle  which  stood  by  his  side. 
In  the  agonies  of  composition  the  elderly  gentleman  looked  sometimes  at  the 
carpet,  sometimes  at  the  ceiling,  and  sometimes  at  the  wall;  and  when  neither 
carpet,  ceiling,  nor  wall  afforded  the  requisite  degree  of  inspiration  he  looked 
out  of  the  window. 

In  one  of  these  pauses  of  invention  the  scientific  gentleman  was  gazing 
abstractedly  on  the  thick  darkness  outside,  when  he  was  very  much  surprised 
by  observing  a  most  brilliant  light  glide  through  the  air  a  short  distance  above 


206  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

the  ground,  and  almost  instantaneously  vanish.  After  a  short  time  the 
phenomenon  was  repeated,  not  once  or  twice,  but  several  times;  at  last  the 
scientific  gentleman,  laying  down  his  pen,  began  to  consider  to  what  natural 
causes  these  appearances  were  to  be  assigned. 

They  were  not  meteors ;  they  were  too  low.  They  were  not  glow-worms ; 
they  were  too  high.  They  were  not  will-o'-the-wisps  ;  they  were  not  fire-flies ; 
they  were  not  fire-works.  What  could  they  be?  Some  extraordinary  and 
wonderful  phenomenon  of  nature,  which  no  philosopher  had  ever  seen  before; 
something  which  it  had  been  reserved  for  him  alone  to  discover,  and  which  he 
should  immortalize  his  name  by  chronicling  for  the  benefit  of  posterity.  Full 
of  this  idea,  the  scientific  gentleman  seized  his  pen  again  and  committed  to 
paper  sundry  notes  of  these  unparalleled  appearances,  with  the  date,  day,  hour, 
minute,  and  precise  second  at  which  they  were  visible;  all  of  which  were  to 
form  the  data  of  a  voluminous  treatise  of  great  research  and  deep  learning, 
which  should  astonish  all  the  atmospherical  wiseacres  that  ever  drew  breath  in 
any  part  of  the  civilized  globe. 

He  drew  himself  back  in  his  easy-chair,  wrapt  in  contemplations  of  his 
future  greatness.  The  mysterious  light  appeared  more  brilliantly  than  before; 
dancing,  to  all  appearance,  up  and  down  the  lane,  crossing  from  side  to  side,  and 
moving  in  an  orbit  as  eccentric  as  comets  themselves. 

The  scientific  gentleman  was  a  bachelor.  He  had  no  wife  to  call  in  and 
astonish,  so  he  rang  the  bell  for  his  servant. 

"  Prufiie,"  said  the  scientific  gentleman,  "  there  is  something  very  extraor- 
dinary in  the  air  to-night.  Did  you  see  that?"  said  the  scientific  gentleman, 
pointing  out  of  the  window  as  the  light  again  became  visible. 

"  Yes,  I  did,  sir." 

"What  do  you  think  of  it,  Pruffle  ?  " 

"Think  of  it,  sir?" 

"Yes.  You  have  been  bred  up  in  the  country.  What  should  you  say  was 
the  cause  of  those  lights  now?" 

The  scientific  gentleman  smilingly  anticipated  Pruffle's  reply  that  be  could 
assign  no  cause  for  them  at  all.     Pruffle  meditated. 

"  I  should  say  it  was  thieves,  sir,"  said  Pruffle  at  length. 

"You're  a  fool,  and  may  go  down  stairs,"  said  the  scientific  gentle- 
man. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Pruffle.     And  down  he  went. 

But  the  scientific  gentleman  could  not  rest  under  the  idea  of  the  ingenious 
treatise  he  had  projected  being  lost  to  the  world,  which  must  inevitably  be  the 
case  if  the  speculation  of  the  ingenious  Mr.  Pruffle  were  not  stifled  in  its 
birth.  He  put  on  his  hat  and  walked  quickly  down  the  garden,  determined 
to  investigate  the  matter  to  the  very  bottom. 

Now,  shortly  before  the  scientific  gentleman  walked  out  into  the  garden, 
Mr.  Pickwick  had  run  down  the  lane  as  fast  as  he  could;  to  convey  a  false 
alarm  that  somebody  was  coming  that  way,  occasionally  drawing  back  the 
slide  of  the  dark  lantern  to  keep  himself  from  the  ditch.  The  alarm  was  no 
sooner  given  than  Mr.  Winkle  scrambled  back  over  the  wall  and  Arabella 
ran  into  the  house;  the  garden  gate  was  shut,  and  the  three  adventurers  were 
making  the  best  of  their  way  down  the  lane,  when  they  were  startled  by  the 
scientific  gentleman  unlocking  his  garden  gate. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  207 

"  Hold  hard,"  whispered  Sam,  who  was  of  course  first  of  the  party.  "  Show 
a  light  for  just  vun  second,  sir." 

Mr.  Pickwick  did  as  he  was  desired,  and  Sam  seeing  a  man's  head  peeping 
out  very  cautiously,  within  half  a  yard  of  his  own,  gave  it  a  gentle  tap  with 
his  clenched  fist,  which  knocked  it  with  a  hollow  sound  against  the  gate. 
Having  performed  this  feat  with  great  suddenness  and  dexterity,  Mr.  Weller 
caught  Mr.  Pickwick  up  on  his  back,  and  followed  Mr.  Winkle  down  the  lane 
at  a  pace  which,  considering  the  burden  he  carried,  was  perfectlj'  astonishing. 

"Have  you  got  your  vind  back  agin,  sir?"  inquired  Sam,  when  they  had 
reached  the  end. 

'•Quite — quite  now,"  replied  Mr.  Pickwick. 

"  Then  come  along,  sir,"  said  Sam,  setting  his  master  on  his  feet  again. 
"Come  between  us,  sir.  Not  half  a  mile  to  run.  Think  you  're  vinnin  a  cup, 
sir.     Now  for  it." 

Thus  encouraged,  Mr.  Pickwick  made  the  very  best  use  of  his  legs,  and  it 
may  be  confidently  stated  that  a  pair  of  black  gaiters  never  got  over  the 
ground  in  a  better  style  than  did  those  of  Mr.  Pickwick  on  this  memorable 
occasion. 

The  coach  was  waiting,  the  horses  were  fresh,  the  roads  were  good,  and  the 
driver  was  willing.  The  whole  party  arrived  in  safety  at  the  Bush  before  Mr. 
Pickwick  had  recovered  his  breath. 

"  In  vith  you  at  once,  sir,"  said  Sam,  as  he  helped  his  master  out.  "  Do  n't 
stop  a  second  in  the  street  arter  that  'ere  exercise.  Beg  your  pardon,  sir," 
continued  Sam,  touching  his  hat  as  Mr.  "Winkle  descended.  "Hope  there 
war  n't  a  priory  'tachment,  sir." 

Mr.  Winkle  grasped  his  humble  friend  by  the  hand  and  whispered  in  his 
ear,  "  It 's  all  right,  Sam ;  quite  right ; "  upon  which  Mr.  Weller  struck  three 
distinct  blows  upon  his  nose  in  token  of  intelligence;  smiled,  winked,  and 
proceeded  to  put  the  steps  up  with  a  countenance  expressive  of  lively  satisfac- 
tion. As  to  the  scientific  gentleman,  he  demonstrated  in  a  masterly  treatise 
that  these  wonderful  lights  were  the  effect  of  electricity,  and  clearly  proved 
the  same  by  detailing  how  a  flash  of  fire  danced  before  his  eyes  when  he  put 
his  head  out  of  the  gate,  and  how  he  received  a  shock  which  stunned  him  for 
a  full  quarter  of  an  hour  afterward;  which  demonstration  delighted  all  the 
scientific  associations  beyond  measure,  and  caused  him  to  be  considered  a  light 
of  science  ever  afterward, 

II.— TEMPEST. 

I  now  approach  an  event  in  my  life  so  indelible,  so  awful,  so  bound  by  an 
infinite  variety  of  ties  to  all  that  has  preceded  it  in  these  pages,  that  from  the 
beginning  of  my  narrative  I  have  seen  it  growing  larger  and  larger  as  I 
advanced,  like  a  great  tower  in  a  plain,  and  throwing  its  fore-cast  shadow  even 
on  the  incidents  of  my  childish  days. 

For  years  after  it  occurred  I  dreamed  of  it  often.  I  have  started  up 
so  vividly  impressed  by  it,  that  its  fury  has  yet  seemed  raging  in  my  quiet 
room,  in  the  still  night.  I  dream  of  it  sometimes,  though  at  lengthened  and 
uncertain  intervals,  to  this  hour.  I  have  an  association  between  it  and  a 
stormy  wind,  or  the  lightest  mention  of  a  sea-shore,  as  strong  as  any  of  which 
my  mind  is  conscious.     As   plainly  as  I  behold  what   happened  I  will   try 


208  MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION. 

to  write  it  down.  I  do  not  recall  it,  but  see  it  done;  for  it  happens  again 
before  me. 

The  time  drawing  on  rapidly  for  the  sailing  of  the  emigrant-ship,  my  good 
old  nurse  (almost  broken-hearted  for  me,  when  we  first  met)  came  up  to 
London.  I  was  constantly  with  her  and  her  brother  and  the  Micawbers 
(they  being  very  much  together) ;  but  Emily  I  never  saw. 

One  evening  when  the  time  was  close  at  hand  I  was  alone  with  Peggotty 
and  her  brother.  „  Our  conversation  turned  on  Ham.  She  described  to  us  how 
tenderly  he  had  taken  leave  of  her,  and  how  manfully  and  quietly  he  had 
borne  himself.  Most  of  all,  of  late,  when  she  believed  he  was  most  tried.  It 
was  a  subject  of  which  the  affectionate  creature  never  tired;  and  our  interest 
in  hearing,  the  many  examples  which  she,  who  was  so  much  with  him,  had  to 
relate  was  equal  to  hers  in  relating  them. 

My  aunt  and  I  were  at  that  time  vacating  the  two  cottages  at  Highgate; 
I  intending  to  go  abroad,  and  she  to  return  to  her  house  at  Dover.  We  had 
a  temporary  lodging  in  Covent  Garden.  As  I  walked  home  to  it,  after  this 
evening's  conversation,  reflecting  on  what  had  passed  between  Ham  and 
myself  when  I  was  last  at  Yarmouth,  I  wavered  in  the  original  purpose  I 
had  formed,  of  leaving  a  letter  for  Emily  when  I  should  take  leave  of  her 
uncle  on  board  the  ship,  and  thought  it  would  be  better  to  write  to  her  now. 
She  might  desire,  I  thought,  after  receiving  my  communication,  to  send  some 
parting  word  by  me  to  her  unhappy  lover.  I  ought  to  give  her  the  oppor- 
tunity. 

I  therefore  sat  down  in  my  room,  before  going  to  bed,  and  wrote  to  her. 
I  told  her  that  I  had  seen  him,  and  that  he  had  requested  me  to  tell  her  what 
I  have  already  written  in  its  place  in  these  sheets.  I  faithfully  repeated  it. 
I  had  no  need  to  enlarge  upon  it,  if  I  had  had  the  right.  Its  deep  fidelitj' 
and  goodness  were  not  to  be  adorned  by  me  or  any  man.  I  left  it  out,  to  be 
sent  round  in  the  morning ;  with  a  line  to  Mr.  Peggotty,  requesting  him  to 
give  it  to  her ;  and  went  to  bed  at  daybreak. 

I  was  weaker  than  I  knew  then ;  and,  not  falling  asleep  until  the  sun  was 
up,  lay  late,  and  unrefreshed,  next  day.  I  was  roused  by  the  silent  presence 
of  my  aunt  at  my  bedside.  I  felt  it  in  my  sleep,  as  I  suppose  we  all  do  feel 
such  things. 

"  Trot,  my  dear,"  she  said,  when  I  opened  my  eyes,  "  I  could  n't  make  up 
my  mind  to  disturb  you.  Mr.  Peggotty  is  here;  shall  he  come  up?"  I  replied 
•  yes,  and  he  soon  appeared. 

"  Mas'r  Davy,"  he  said,  when  we  liad  shaken  hands,  "  I  giv  Em'ly  your 
letter,  sir,  and  she  writ  this  heer ;  and  begged  of  me  fur  to  ask  you  to  read  it, 
and  if  you  see  no  hurt  in  't,  to  be  so  kind  as  to  take  charge  on  't." 

"Have  you  read  it?"  said  I.  He  nodded  sorrowfully.  I  opened  it,  and 
read  as  follows: 

"  I  have  got  your  message.  Oh,  what  can  I  write  to  thank  you  for  your 
good  and  blessed  kindness  to  me! 

"  I  have  put  the  words  close  to  my  heart.  I  shall  keep  them  till  I  die. 
They  are  sharp  thorns,  but  they  are  such  comfort.  I  have  prayed  over  them, 
oh,  I  have  prayed  so  much.  When  I  find  what  you  are,  and  what  uncle  is,  I 
think  what  God  must  be,  and  can  cry  to  him. 

"Good-bye  forever.     Now,  my  dear,  my  friend,  good-bye  forever  in  this 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  209 

world.  In  another  world,  if  I  am  forgiven,  I  may  wake  a  child  and  come  to 
you.     All  thanks  and  blessings.     Farewell,  evermore  1 " 

This,  blotted  with  tears,  was  the  letter. 

"  May  I  tell  her  as  you  doe  n't  see  no  hurt  in  't,  and  as  you  '11  be  so  kind  as 
to  take  charge  on  't,  Mas'r  Davy  ?  "  said  Mr.  Peggotty,  when  I  had  read  it. 

"Unquestionably,"  said  I;  "but  I  am  thinking — " 

"  Yes,  Mas'r  Davy?" 

'•I  am  thinking,"  said  I,  "that  I'll  go  down  again  to  Yarmouth.  There's 
time,  and  to  spare,  for  me  to  go  and  come  back  before  the  ship  sails.  My  mind 
is  constantly  running  on  him,  in  his  solitude;  to  put  this  letter  of  her  writing 
in  his  hand  at  this  time,  and  to  enable  you  to  tell  her,  in  the  moment  of  part- 
ing, that  he  has  got  it,  will  be  a  kindness  to  both  of  them.  I  solemnly  accepted 
his  commission,  dear,  good  fellow,  and  can  not  discharge  it  too  completely. 
The  journey  is  nothing  to  me.  I  am  restless,  and  shall  be  better  in  motion. 
I'll  go  down  to-night." 

Though  he  anxiously  endeavored  to  dissuade  me,  I  saw  that  he  was  of  my 
mind ;  and  this,  if  I  had  required  to  be  coiilirmed  in  my  intention,  would  have 
had  the  eifect.  He  went  round  to  the  coach-office,  at  my  request,  and  took  the 
box-seat  for  me  on  the  mail.  In  the  evening  I  started  by  that  conveyance 
down  the  road  I  had  traversed  under  so  many  vicissitudes. 

"Don't  you  think  that,"  I  asked  the  coachman,  in  the  first  stage  out  of 
London,  "  a  very  remarkable  sky  ?    I  do  n't  remember  to  have  seen  one  like  it." 

"Nor  I — not  one  equal  to  it,"  he  replied.  "That's  wind,  sir.  There'll  be 
mischief  done  at  sea,  I  expect,  before  long." 

It  was  a  murky  confusion — here  and  there  blotted  with  a  color  like  the  color 
of  the  smoke  from  damp  fuel — of  flying  clouds,  tossed  up  into  most  remarkable 
heaps,  suggesting  greater  heights  in  the  clouds  than  there  were  depths  below 
them  to  the  bottom  of  the  deepest  hollows  in  the  earth,  through  which  the 
wild  moon  seemed  to  plunge  headlong,  as  if,  in  a  dread  disturbance  of  the 
laws  of  nature,  she  had  lost  her  way  and  were  frightened.  There  had  been  a 
wind  all  day,  and  it  was  rising  then  with  an  extraordinary  great  sound.  In 
another  hour  it  had  much  increased,  and  the  sky  was  more  overcast,  and  it 
blew  hard.  But,  as  the  night  advanced,  the  clouds  closing  in  and  densely 
overspreading  the  whole  sky,  then  very  dark,  it  came  on  to  blow  harder  and 
harder.  It  still  increased,  until  our  horses  could  scarcely  face  the  wind.  Many 
times,  in  the  dark  part  of  the  night  (it  was  then  late  in  September,  when  the 
nights  were  not  short),  the  leaders  turned  about  or  came  to  a  dead  stop;  and 
we  were  often  in  serious  apprehension  that  the  coach  would  be  blown  over. 
Sweeping  gusts  of  rain  came  up  before  this  storm  like  showers  of  steel;  and  at 
those  times,  when  there  was  any  shelter  of  trees  or  lee  walls  to  be  got,  we 
were  fain  to  stop,  in  a  sheer  impossibility  of  continuing  the  struggle. 

When  the  day  broke  it  blew  harder  and  harder.  I  had  been  in  Yarmouth 
when  the  seamen  said  it  blew  great  guns,  but  I  had  never  known  the  like  of 
this,  or  anything  approaching  to  it.  We  came  to  Norwich — very  late,  having 
had  to  fight  every  inch  of  ground  since  we  were  ten  miles  out  of  London — and 
found  a  cluster  of  people  in  the  market-place,  who  had  risen  from  their  beds  in 
the  night,  fearful  of  falling  chimneys.  Some  of  these,  congregating  about  the 
inn-yard  while  we  changed  horses,  told  us  of  great  sheets  of  lead  having  been 
ripped  off  a  high  church-tower  and  flung  into  a  by-street,  which  they  then 

14 


210  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

blocked  up.  Others  had  to  tell  of  country  people  coming  in  from  neighboring 
villages,  who  had  seen  great  trees  lying  torn  out  of  the  earth,  and  whole  ricks 
scattered  about  the  roads  and  fields.  Still  there  was  no  abatement  in  the  storm, 
but  it  blew  harder. 

As  we  struggled  on,  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  sea,  from  which  this  mighty 
wind  was  blowing  dead  on  shore,  its  force  became  more  and  more  terrific. 
Long  before  we  saw  the  sea  its  spray  was  on  our  lips,  and  showered  salt  rain 
upon  us.  The  water  was  out  over  miles  and  miles  of  the  flat  country  adjacent 
to  Yarmouth;  and  every  sheet  and  puddle  lashed  its  banks,  and  had  its  stress 
of  little  breakers  setting  heavily  toward  us.  When  we  came  within  sight  of 
the  sea  the  waves  on  the  horizon,  caught  at  intervals  above  the  rolling  abyss, 
were  like  glimpses  of  another  shore,  with  towers  and  buildings.  When  at  last 
we  got  into  the  town  the  people  came  out  to  their  doors  all  aslant  and  with 
streaming  hair,  making  a  wonder  of  the  mail  that  had  come  through  such 
a  night. 

I  put  up  at  the  old  inn,  and  went  down  to  look  at  the  sea;  staggering  along 
the  street,  which  was  strewn  with  sand  and  seaweed  and  with  flj'ing  blotches 
of  sea-foam;  afraid  of  falling  slates  and  tiles;  and  holding  by  people  I  met  at 
angry  corners.  Coming  near  the  beach  I  saw  not  only  the  boatmen  but  half 
the  people  of  the  town  lurking  behind  buildings,  some  now  and  then  braving" 
the  fury  of  the  storm  to  look  away  to  sea,  and  blown  sheer  out  of  their  course 
in  trying  to  get  zigzag  back. 

Joining  these  groups  I  found  bewailing  women  whose  husbands  were  away 
in  herring  or  oj'ster  boats,  which  there  was  too  much  reason  to  think  might 
have  foundered  before  they  could  run  in  anywhere  for  safety.  Grizzled  old 
sailors  were  among  the  people,  shaking  their  heads  as  they  looked  from  water  to 
sky,  and  muttering  to  one  another;  ship-owners  excited  and  uneasy;  children 
huddling  together,  and  peering  into  older  faces;  even  stout  mariners,  disturbed 
and  anxious,  leveling  their  glasses  at  the  sea  from  behind  places  of  shelter,  as  if 
they  were  surveying  an  enemy. 

The  tremendous  sea  itself,  when  I  could  find  sufficient  pause  to  look  at  it,  in 
the  agitation  of  the  blinding  wind,  the  flying  stones  and  sand,  and  the  awful 
noise,  confounded  me.  As  the  high  watery  walls  came  rolling  in,  and  at  their 
highest  tumbled  into  surf,  they  looked  as  if  the  least  would  engulf  the  town. 
As  the  receding  wave  swept,  back  with  a  hoarse  roar  it  seemed  to  scoop  out 
deep  caves  in  the  beach,  as  if  its  purpose  were  to  undermine  the  earth.  When 
some  white-headed  billows  thundered  on,  and  dashed  themselves  to  pieces 
before  they  reached  the  land,  every  fragment  of  the  late  whole  seemed  possessed 
by  the  full  might  of  its  wrath,  rushing  to  be  gathered  to  the  composition  of 
another  monster.  Undulating  hills  were  changed  to  valleys,  undulating  valleys 
were  lifted  up  to  hills;  masses  of  water  shivered  and  shook  the  beach  with  a 
booming  sound ;  every  shape  tumultuously  rolled  on,  as  soon  as  made,  to  change 
its  shape  and  place,  and  beat  another  shape  and  place  away;  the  ideal  shore 
on  the  horizon,  with  its  towers  and  buildings,  rose  and  fell;  the  clouds  flew 
fast  and  thick ;  I  seemed  to  see  a  rending  and  upheaving  of  all  nature. 

Not  finding  Ham  among  the  people  whom  this  memorable  wind — for  it  is 
still  remembered  down  there  as  the  greatest  ever  known  to  blow  upon  that 
coast — had  brought  together,  I  made  my  way  to  his  house.  It  was  shut;  and 
as  no  one  answered  to  my  knocking  I  went  by  back-ways  and  by-lanes  to  the 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  211 

yard  whore  he  worked.  I  learned  there  that  he  had  gone  to  Lowestoft  to  meet 
some  sudden  exigency  of  ship-repairing  in  which  his  skill  was  required,  but 
that  he  would  be  back  to-morrow  morning  in  good  time. 

I  went  back  to  the  inn,  and  when  I  had  washed  and  dressed,  and  tried  to 
sleep,  but  in  Vain,  it  was  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  I  had  not  sat  five 
minutes  by  the  coffee-room  fire  when  the  waiter,  coming  to  stir  it  as  an  excuse 
for  talking,  told  yie  that  two  colliers  had  gone  down  with  all  hands,  a  few 
miles  away,  and  that  gome  other  ships  had  been  seen  laboring  hard  in  the 
Roads,  and  trying,  in  great  distress,  to  keep  ofl-shore.  Mercy  on  them  and  on 
all  poor  sailors,  said  he,  if  we  had  another  night  like  the  last  I 

I  was  very  nmch  depressed  in  spirits;  very  solitary;  and  felt  an  uneasiness 
in  Ham's  not  being  there  disproportionate  to  the  occasion.  I  was  seriously 
affected,  without  knowing  how  much,  by  late  events,  and  my  long  exposure  to 
the  fierce  wind  had  confused  me.  There  was  that  jumble  in  my  thoughts  and 
recollections  that  I  had  lost  the  clear  arrangement  of  time  and  distance.  Thus, 
if  I  had  gone  out  into  the  town,  I  should  not  have  been  surprised,  I  think,  to 
encounter  some  one  who  I  knew  must  be  then  in  London.  So  to  speak,  there 
W'as  in  these  respects  a  curious  inattention  in  my  mind.  Yet  it  was  busy  too 
with  all  the  remembrances  the  place  naturally  awakened,  and  they  were  par- 
ticularly distinct  and  vivid.  In  this  state,  the  waiter's  dismal  intelligence 
about  the  ships  immediately  connected  itself,  without  any  effort  of  my  volition, 
with  my  uneasiness  about  Ham.  I  was  persuaded  that  I  had  an  apprehension 
of  his  returning  from  Lowestoft  by  sea  and  being  lost.  This  grew  so  strong 
with  me  that  I  resolved  to  go  back  to  the  yard  before  I  took  my  dinner  and  ask 
the  boat-builder  if  he  thought  his  attempting  to  return  by  sea  at  all  likely? 
If  he  gave  me  the  least  reason  to  think  so,  I  would  go  over  to  Lowestoft  and 
prevent  it  by  bringing  him  with  me. 

I  hastily  ordered  my  dinner  and  went  back  to  the  yard.  I  was  none  too 
soon,  for  the  boat-builder,  with  a  lantern  in  his  hand,  was  locking  the  yard- 
gate.  He  quite  laughed  when  I  asked  him  the  question,  and  said  there  was  no 
fear;  no  man  in  his  senses,  or  out  of  them,  would  put  off  in  such  a  gale  of 
wind,  least  of  all  Ham  Peggottj',  who  had  been  born  to  seafaring. 

So  sensible  of  this,  beforehand,  that  I  had  really  felt  ashamed  of  doing 
what  I  was  nevertheless  impelled  to  do,  I  went  back  to  the  inn.  If  such  a 
wind  could  rise  I  think  it  was  rising.  The  howl  and  roar,  the  rattling  of  the 
doors  and  windows,  the  rumbling  in  the  chimneys,  the  apparent  rocking  of  the 
very  house  that  sheltered  me,  and  the  prodigious  tumult  of  the  sea,  were  more 
fearful  than  in  the  morning.  But  there  was  now  a  great  darkness  besides,  and 
that  invested  the  storm  with  new  terrors,  real  and  fanciful. 

I  could  not  eat,  I  could  not  sit  still,  I  could  not  continue  steadfast  to  any 
thing.  Something  within  me,  faintly  answering  to  the  storm  without,  tossed 
up  the  depths  of  my  memory,  and  made  a  tumult  in  them.  Yet  in  all  the 
hurry  of  my  thoughts — wild  running  with  the  thundering  sea — the  storm  and 
my  uneasiness  regarding  Ham  were  always  in  the  foreground. 

My  dinner  went  away  almost  untasted,  and  I  tried  to  refresh  myself  with 
a  glass  or  two  of  wine.  In  vain.  I  fell  into  a  dull  slumber  before  the  fire, 
without  losing  my  consciousness  either  of  the  uproar  out  of  doors  or  of  the 
place  in  which  I  was.  Both  became  overshadowed  by  a  new  and  indefinable 
horror,  and  when   I  awoke — or  rather  when  I  shook  off  the  lethargy  that 


212  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

bound  me  in  my  chair — my  whole  frame  thrilled  with  objectless  and  unintelli- 
gible fear. 

I  walked  to  and  fro,  tried  to  read  an  old  gazetteer,  listened  to  the  awful 
noises;  looked  at  faces,  scenes,  and  figures  in  the  fire.  At  length  the  steady 
ticking  of  the  undisturbed  clock  on  the  wall  tormented  me  to  that  degree 
that  I  resolved  to  go  to  bed. 

It  was  re-assuring,  on  such  a  night,  to  be  told  that  some  of  the  inn-servants 
had  agreed  together  to  sit  up  until  morning.  I  went  to  bed  exceedingly  weary 
and  heavy,  but  on  my  lying  down  all  such  sensations  vanished  as  if  by  magic, 
and  I  was  broad  awake,  with  every  sense  refined. 

For  hours  I  lay  there,  listening  to  the  wind  and  water;  imagining  now  that 
I  heard  shrieks  out  at  sea;  now,  that  I  distinctly  heard  the  firing  of  signal 
guns;  and  now,  the  fall  of  houses  in  the  town.  I  got  up  several  times  and 
looked  out,  but  could  see  nothing  except  the  reflection  in  the  window-panes  of 
the  faint  candle  I  had  left  burning,  and  of  my  own  haggard  face  looking  in  at 
me  from  the  black  void. 

At  length  my  restlessness  attained  to  such  a  pitch  that  I  hurried  on  my 
clothes  and  went  down  stairs.  I  remained  there,  I  dare  say,  two  hours.  Once 
I  opened  the  yard-gate,  and  looked  into  the  empty  street.  The  sand,  the  sea- 
weed, and  the  flakes  of  foam  were  driving  by ;  and  I  was  obliged  to  call  for  as- 
sistance before  I  could  shut  the  gate  again,  and  make  it  fast  against  the  wind. 

There  was  a  dark  gloom  in  my  solitary  chamber  when  I  at  length  returned 
to  it;  but  I  was  tired  now,  and  getting  into  bed  again,  fell — ofl"  a  tower  and 
down  a  precipice — into  the  depths  of  sleep.  I  have  an  impression  that  for  a 
long  time,  though  I  dreamed  of  being  elsewhere  and  in  a  variety  of  scenes,  it 
was  always  blowing  in  my  dream.  At  length  I  lost  that  feeble  hold  upon 
reality,  and  was  engaged  with  two  dear  friends,  but  who  they  were  I  do  n't 
know,  at  the  siege  of  some  town  in  a  roar  of  cannonading. 

The  thunder  of  the  cannon  was  so  loud  and  incessant  that  I  could  not  hear 
something  I  much  desired  to  hear,  until  I  made  a  great  exertion  and  awoke. 
It  was  broad  day — eight  or  nine  o'clock ;  the  storm  raging,  in  lieu  of  the 
batteries ;  and  some  one  knocking  and  calling  at  my  door. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  I  cried. 

"A  wreck!.   Close  by!" 

I  sprang  out  of  bed,  and  asked  what  wreck  ? 

"A  schooner  from  Spain  or  Portugal,  laden  with  fruit  and  wine.  Make 
haste,  sir,  if  you  want  to  see  her!  It 's  thought,  down  on  the  beach,  she  '11  go 
to  pieces  every  moment." 

The  excited  voice  went  clamoring  along  the  staircase;  and  I  wrapped 
myself  in  my  clothes  as  quickly  as  I  could  and  ran  into  the  street. 

Numbers  of  people  were  there  before  me,  all  running  in  one  direction,  to 
the  beach.  I  ran  the  same  way,  outstripping  a  good  many,  and  soon  came 
facing  the  wild  sea. 

The  wind  might  by  this  time  have  lulled  a  little,  though  not  more  sensibly 
than  if  the  cannonading  I  had  dreamed  of  had  been  diminished  by  the 
silencing  of  half-a-dozen  guns  out  of  hundreds.  But  the  sea,  having  upon 
it  the  additional  agitation  of  the  whole  night,  was  infinitely  more  terrific  than 
when  I  had  seen  it  last.  Every  appearance  it  had  then  presented  bore  the 
expression  of  being  swelled;  and  the  height  to  which  the  breakers  rose,  and, 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  213 

looking  over  one  another,  bore  one  another  down,  and  rolled  in,  in  intermin- 
able hosts,  was  most  appalling. 

In  the  ditficulty  of  hearing  anything  but  wind  and  waves,  and  in  the 
crowd,  and  the  unspeakable  confusion,  and  my  first  breathless  efforts  to  stand 
against  the  weather,  I  was  so  confused  that  I  looked  out  to  sea  for  the  wreck, 
and  saw  nothing  but  the  foaming  heads  of  the  great  waves.  A  half-dressed 
boatman,  standing  next  me,  pointed  with  his  bare  arm  (a  tattooed  arrow  on  it, 
pointing  in  the  same  direction)  to  the  left.  Then,  O  great  Heaven,  I  saw  it, 
close  in  upon  us ! 

One  mast  wa-s  broken  short  off,  six  or  eight  feet  from  the  deck,  and  lay  over 
the  side,  entangled  in  a  maze  of  sale  and  rigging;  and  all  that  ruin,  as  the 
ship  rolled  and  beat — which  she  did  without  a  moment's  pause,  and  with  a 
violence  quite  inconceivable — beat  the  side  as  if  it  would  stave  it  in.  Some 
efforts  were  even  then  being  made  to  cut  this  portion  of  the  wreck  away;  for, 
as  the  ship,  which  was  broadside  on,  turned  toward  us  in  her  rolling,  I  plainly 
descried  her  people  at  work  with  axes,  especially  one  active  figure  with  long 
curling  hair,  conspicuous  among  the  rest.  But  a  great  cry,  which  was  audible 
even  above  the  wind  and  water,  rose  from  the  shore  at  this  moment:  the  sea, 
sweeping  over  the  rolling  wreck,  made  a  clean  breach,  and  carried  men,  spars, 
casks,  planks,  bulwarks,  heaps  of  such  toys,  into  the  boiling  surge. 

The  second  mast  was  yet  standing,  with  the  rags  of  a  rent  sail,  and  a  wild 
confusion  of  broken  cordage  flapping  to  and  fro.  The  ship  had  struck  once, 
the  same  boatman  hoarsely  said  in  my  ear,  and  then  lifted  in  and  struck  again. 
I  understood  him  to  add  that  she  was  parting  amidships,  and  I  could  readily 
suppose  so,  for  the  rolhng  and  beating  were  too  tremendous  for  any  human 
■work  to  suffer  long.  As  he  spoke  there  was  another  great  cry  of  pity  from 
the  beach;  four  men  arose  with  the  wreck  out  of  the  deep,  clinging  to  the 
rigging  of  the  remaining  mast;  uppermost,  the  active  figure  with  the  curl- 
ing hair. 

There  was  a  bell  on  board ;  and  as  the  ship  rolled  and  dashed,  like  a  des- 
perate creature  driven  mad,  now  showing  us  the  whole  sweep  of  her  deck,  as 
she  turned  on  her  beam-ends  toward  the  shore,  now  nothing  but  her  keel  as  she 
sprung  wildly  over  and  turned  toward  the  sea,  the  bell  rang;  and  its  sound, 
the  knell  of  those  unhappy  men,  was  borne  toward  us  on  the  wind.  Again 
we  lost  her,  and  again  she  rose.  Two  men  were  gone.  The  agony  on  shore 
increased.  Men  groaned,  and  clasped  their  hands ;  women  shrieked,  and 
turned  away  their  faces.  -Some  ran  wildly  up  and  down  along  the  beach, 
crying  for  help  where  no  help  could  be.  I  found  myself  one  of  these,  franti- 
cally imploring  a  knot  of  sailors  whom  I  knew  not  to  let  those  two  lost 
creatures  perish  before  our  eyes. 

They  were  making  out  to  me,  in  an  agitated  way — I  do  n't  know  how,  for 
the  little  I  could  hear  I  was  scarcely  composed  enough  to  understand — that  the 
life-boat  had  been  bravely  manned  an  hour  ago,  and  could  do  nothing ;  and 
that  as  no  man  would  be  so  desperate  as  to  attempt  to  wade  off  with  a  rope 
and  establish  a  communication  with  the  shore,  there  was  nothing  left  to  try; 
when  I  noticed  that  some  new  sensation  moved  the  people  on  the  beach,  and 
saw  them  part,  and  Ham  come  breaking  through  them  to  the  front. 

I  ran  to  him — as  well  as  I  know,  to  repeat  my  appeal  for  help.  But,  dis- 
tracted though  I  was  by  a  sight  so  new  to  me  and  terrible,  the  determination 


214  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

in  his  face,  and  his  look  out  to  sea — exactly  the  same  look  as  I  remembered  in 
connection  with  the  morning  after  Emily's  flight— awoke  me  to  a  knowledge 
of  his  danger.  I  held  him  back  with  both  arms;  and  implored  the  men  with 
whom  I  had  been  speaking  not  to  listen  to  him,  not  to  do  murder,  not  to  let 
him  stir  from  oif  that  sand  ! 

Another  cry  arose  on  shore;  and  looking  to  the  wreck  we  saw  the  cruel 
sail,  with  blow  on  blow,  beat  off  the  lowest  of  the  two  men,  and  fly  up  in 
triumph  round  the  active  figure  left  alone  upon  the  mast. 

Against  such  a  sight,  and  against  such  determination  as  that  of  the  calmly 
desperate  man  who  was  already  accustomed  to  lead  half  the  people  present,  I 
might  as  hopefully  have  entreated  the  wind.  "  Mas'r  Davy,"  he  said,  cheerily 
grasping  me  by  both  hands,  "  if  my  time  is  come,  't  is  come.  If  'tan't,  I  '11 
bide  it.  Lord  above  bless  you,  and  bless  all !  Mates,  make  me  ready !  I  'm 
a  going  oft"! " 

I  was  swept  away,  but  not  unkindly,  to  some  distance,  where  the  people 
around  me  made  me  stay;  urging,  as  I  confusedly  perceived,  that  he  was  bent 
on  going,  with  help  or  without,  and  that  I  should  endanger  the  precautions  for 
his  safety  by  troubling  those  with  whom  they  rested.  I  do  n't  know  what  I 
answered,  or  what  they  rejoined;  but  I  saw  hurry  on  the  beach,  and  men 
running  with  ropes  from  a  capstan  that  was  there,  and  penetrating  into  a 
circle  of  figures  that  hid  him  from  me.  Then  I  saw  him  standing  alone,  in 
a  seaman's  frock  and  trowsers;  a  rope  in  his  hand,  or  slung  to  his  wrist; 
another  round  his  body;  and  several  of  the  best  men  holding,  at  a  little 
distance,  to  the  latter,  which  he  laid  out  himself,  slack  upon  the  shore,  at 
his  feet. 

The  wreck,  even  to  my  unpracticed  eye,  was  breaking  up.  I  saw  that  she 
was  parting  in  the  middle,  and  that  the  life  of  the  solitary  man  upon  the  mast 
hung  by  a  thread.  Still  he  clung  to  it.  He  had  a  singular  red  cap  on, — not 
like  a  sailor's  cap,  but  of  a  finer  color;  and  as  the  few  yielding  planks  between 
him  and  destruction  rolled  and  bulged,  and  his  anticipated  death-knell  rung, 
he  was  seen  by  all  of  us  to  wave  it.  I  saw  him  do  it  now,  and  thought  I  was 
going  distracted,  when  his  action  brought  an  old  remembrance  to  my  mind 
of  a  once  dear  friend. 

Ham  watched  the  sea,  standing  alone,  with  the  silence  of  suspended  breath 
behind  him  and  the  storm  before,  until  there  was  a  great  retiring  wave,  when, 
with  a  backward  glance  at  those  who  held  the  rope  which  was  made  fast  round 
his  body,  he  dashed  in  after  it,  and  in  a  moment  was  buflTeting  with  the  water; 
rising  with  the  hills,  falling  with  the  valleys,  lost  beneath  the  foam ;  then 
drawn  again  to  land.     They  hauled  in  hastily. 

He  was  hurt.  I  saw  blood  on  his  face,  from  where  I  stood ;  but  he  took 
no  thought  of  that.  He  seemed  hurriedly  to  give  them  some  directions  for 
leaving  him  more  free— or  so  I  judged  from  the  motion  of  his  arm — and  was 
gone  as  before. 

And  now  he  made  for  the  wreck,  rising  with  the  hills,  falling  with  the 
valleys,  lost  beneath  the  rugged  foam,  borne  in  toward  the  shore,  borne  on 
toward  the  ship,  striving  hard  and  valiantly.  The  distance  was  nothing,  but 
the  power  of  the  sea  and  wind  made  the  strife  deadly.  At  length  he  neared 
the  wreck.  He  was  so  near  that  with  one  more  of  his  vigorous  strokes  he 
would  be  clinging  to  it, — when  a  high,  green,  vast  hill-side  of  water,  moving 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  215 

on  shoreward,  from  beyond  the  ship,  he  seemed  to  leap  up  into  it  with  a 
mighty  bound,  and  the  ship  was  gone ! 

Some  eddying  fragments  I  saw  in  the  sea,  as  if  a  mere  cask  had  been 
broken,  in  running  to  the  spot  where  they  were  hauling  in.  Consternation 
was  in  every  face.  They  drew  him  to  my  very  feet — insensible — dead.  He 
.was  carried  to  the  nearest  house;  and,  no  one  preventing  me  now,  I  remained 
near  him,  busy,  while  every  means  of  restoration  were  tried;  but  he  had  been 
beaten  to  death  by  the  great  wave,  and  his  generous  heart  was  stilled  forever. 

As  I  sat  beside  the  bed,  when  hope  was  abandoned  and  all  was  done,  a 
fisherman,  who  had  known  me  when  Emily  and  I  were  children,  and  ever 
since,  whispered  my  name  at  the  door. 

"Sir,"  said  he,  with  tears  starting  to  his  weather-beaten  face,  which,  with 
his  trembling  lips,  was  ashy  pale,  "will  you  come  over  yonder?" 

The  old  remembrance  that  had  been  recalled  to  me  was  in  his  look.  I 
asked  him,  terror-stricken,  leaning  on  the  arm  he  held  out  to  support  me: 
"Has  a  body  come  ashore?"  He  said,  "Yes."  "Do  1  know  it?"  I  asked 
then.    He  answered  nothing. 

But  he  led  me  to  the  shore.  And  on  that  part  where  she  and  I  had  looked 
for  shells,  two  children: — ^^on  that  part  of  it  where  some  lighter  fragments  of 
the  old  boat,  blown  down  last  night,  had  been  scattered  by  the  wind — among 
the  ruins  of  the  home  he  had  wronged — I  saw  him  lying  with  his  head  upon 
his  arm,  as  I  had  often  seen  him  lie  at  school. 

No  need,  O  Steerforth,  to  have  said,  when  we  last  spoke  together  in  that 
hour  which  I  so  little  deemed  to  be  our  parting-hour — no  need  to  have  said, 
"Think  of  me  at  my  best!  "  I  had  done  that  ever;  and  could  I  change  now, 
looking  on  this  sight ! 

They  brought  a  hand-bier  and  laid  him  on  it,  and  covered  him  with  a  flag, 
and  took  him  up  and  bore  him  on  toward  the  houses.  All  the  men  who 
carried  him  had  known  him,  and  gone  sailing  with  him,  and  seen  him  merry 
and  bold.  They  carried  him  through  the  wild  roar,  a  hush  in  the  midst  of  all 
the  tumult;  and  took  him  to  the  cottage  where  Death  was  already. 

But  when  they  sat  the  bier  down  on  the  threshold  they  looked  at  one 
another,  and  at  me,  and  whispered.  I  knew  why.  They  felt  as  if  it  were 
not  right  to  lay  him  down  in  the 'same  quiet  room. 

The  following  exercise  must  be  carefully  studied  with  regard  to 
the  various  passions  exhibited.     It  is  not  to  be  acted,  but  presented : 

III.— THE  ANNOUNCEMENT  OF  STEERFOKTH'S  DEATH. 

The  house  was  so  still  that  I  heard  the  girl's  light  step  up  stairs.  On  her 
return  she  brought  a  message  to  the  effect  that  Mrs.  Steerforth  was  an  invalid 
and  could  not  come  down ;  but  that  if  I  would  excuse  her  being  in  her  chamber, 
she  would  be  glad  to  see  me.     In  a  few  moments  I  stood  before  her. 

She  was  in  his  room ;  not  in  her  oicn.  I  felt  of  course  that  she  had  taken 
to  occupy  it  in  remembrance  of  him;  and  that  the  many  tokens  of  his  old 
sports  and  accomplishments,  by  which  she  was  surrounded,  remained  there, 
just  as  he  had  left  them,  for  the  same  reason.  She  murmured,  however,  even 
in  her  reception  of  me,  that  she  was  out  of  her  own  chamber  because  its  aspect 


216  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

was  unsuited  to  her  infirmity;  and  with  her  stately  look  repelled  the  least 
suspicion  of  the  truth. 

At  her  chair,  as  usual,  was  Rosa  Dartle.  From  the  first  moment  of  her  dark 
eyes  resting  on  me  I  saw  she  knew  I  was  the  bearer  of  evil  tidings.  The  scar 
sprung  into  view  that  instant.  She  withdrew  herself  a  step  behind  the  chair 
to  keep  her  own  face  out  of  Mrs.  Steerforth's  observation;  and  scrutinized  me 
wi*h  a  piercing  gaze  that  never  faltered,  never  shrunk. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  observe  you  are  in  mourning,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Steerforth. 

"  I  am  unhappily  a  widower,"  said  I. 

"You  are  very  young  to  know  so  great  a  loss,"  she  replied.  "  I  am  grieved 
to  hear  it.     I  am  grieved  to  hear  it.     I  hope  Time  will  be  good  to  you." 

"  1  hope  Time,"  said  I,  looking  at  her,  "  will  be  good  to  all  of  us.  Dear 
Mrs.  Steerforth,  we  must  all  trust  to  that  in  our  heaviest  misfortunes." 

The  earnestness  of  my  manner  and  the  tears  in  my  eyes  alarmed  her. 
The  whole  course  of  her  thoughts  appeared  to  stop  and  change. 

I  tried  to  command  my  voice  in  gently  saying  his  name,  but  it  trembledl 
She  repeated  it  to  herself,  two  or  three  times,  iu  a  low  tone.  Then,  addressing 
me,  she  said,  with  enforced  calmness  : 

"My  son  is  ill." 

"Very  ill." 

"You  have  seen  him  ?  " 

"  I  have." 

"Are  you  reconciled?  " 

I  could  not  say  Yes,  I  could  not  say  No.  She  slightly  turned  her  head 
toward  the  spot  where  Kosa  Dartle  had  been  standing  at  her  elbow,  and  in 
that  moment  I  said,  by  the  motion  of  my  lips  to  Eosa — "  Dead ! " 

That  Mrs.  Steerforth  might  not  be  induced  to  look  behind  her,  and  read, 
plainly  written,  what  she  was  not  yet  prepared  to  know,  I  met  her  look 
quickly;  but  I  had  seen  Rosa  Dartle  throw  her  hands  up  in  the  air  with 
the  vehemence  of  despair  and  horror,  and  then  clasp  them  on  her  face. 

The  handsome  lady — so  like,  oh,  so  like ! — regarded  me  with  a  fixed  look, 
and  put  her  hand  to  her  forehead.  I  besought  her  to  be  calm,  and  prepare 
herself  to  bear  what  I  had  to  tell ;  but  I  should  rather  have  entreated  her  to 
weep,  for  she  sat  like  a  stone  figure. 

"When  I  was  last  here,"  I  faltered,  "Miss  Dartle  told  me  he  was  sailing 
here  and  there.  The  night  before  last  was  a  dreadful  one  at  sea.  If  he  were 
at  sea  that  night,  and  near  a  dangerous  coast,  as  it  is  said  he  was;  and  if  the 
vessel  that  was  seen  should  really  be  the  ship  which — " 

"Rosa,"  said  Mrs.  Steerforth,  "come  to  me!" 

She  came,  but  with  no  sympathy  or  gentleness.  Her  eyes  gleamed  like 
fire  as  she  confronted  his  mother,  and  broke  into  a  frightful  laugh. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  is  your  pride  appeased,  you  madwoman  ?  Now  has  he 
made  atonement  to  you with  his  life!     Do  you  hear? — His  life!" 

Mrs.  Steerforth,  fallen  back  stiffly  in  her  chair  and  making  no  sound  but  a 
moan,  cast  her  eyes  upon  her  with  a  wide  stare. 

"Aye ! "  cried  Rosa,  smiting  herself  passionately  on  the  breast,  "  look  at 
me!  Moan,  and  groan,  and  look  at  me!  Look  here!"  striking  the  scar,  " at 
your  dead  child's  handiwork  !  " 

The  moan  the  mother  uttered  from  time  to  time  went  to  my  heart.    Always 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  217 

the  same.  Always  inarticulate  and  stifled.  Always  accompanied  with  an  inca- 
pable motion  of  the  head,  but  with  no  change  of  face.  Always  proceeding 
from  a  rigid  mouth  and  closed  teeth,  as  if  the  jaw  were  locked  and  the  face 
frozen  up  in  pain. 

''  Do  you  remember  when  he  did  this  ?  "  she  proceeded.  "  Do  you  remember 
when,  in  his  inheritance  of  your  nature,  and  in  your  pampering  of  his  pride 
and  jmssion,  he  did  this,  and  disfigured  me  for  life?  Look  at  me,  marked 
until  I  die  with  his  high  displeasure;  and  moan  and  groan  for  what  you  made 
him! " 

"Miss  Dartle,"  I  entreated  her.     "For  Heaven's  sake — " 

"I  will  speak,"  she  said,  turning  on  me  with  her  lightning  eyes.  "Be 
silent,  you !  Look  at  me,  1  say,  proud  mother  of  a  proud,  false — son !  Moan 
for  your  nurture  of  him,  moan  for  your  corruption  of  him, — moan  for  your 
loss  of  him, — moan  for  mine!  " 

She  clenched  her  hand,  and  trembled  through  her  spare,  worn  figure  as 
if  her  passion  were  killing  her  by  inches. 

"Tor,  resent  his  self-will!'^  she  exclaimed.  You,  injured  by  his  haughty 
temper!  You,  who  opposed, — when  your  hair  was  gray,  the  qualities  which 
made  both  when  you  gave  him  birth !  You,  who — from  his  cradle  reared  him 
to  bj  what  he  was, — and  stunted — what  he  should  have  been!  Are  you  re- 
warded  now  for  your  years  of  trouble  ?  " 

"  O  Miss  Dartle,  shame !     O  cruel !  " 

"  I  tell  you,"  she  returned,  "  I  will  speak  to  her.  No  power  on  earth 
should  stop  mc !  Have  I  been  silent  all  these  years,  and  shall  I  not  speak 
now?  /loved  him  better  than  you  ever  loved  him!"  turning  on  her  fiercely. 
"  I  could  have  loved  him, — and  asked  no  return.  If  I  had  been  his  wife,  I  could 
have  been  the  slave  of  his  caprices  for  a  word  of  love  a  year.  I  should  have 
been.  Who  knows  it  better  than  I  ?  You  were  exacting,  proud, — punctilious, — 
selfish.  My  love  would  have  been  devoted — would  have  trod  your  paltry 
■whimpering  under  foot !  " 

With  flashing  eyes,  she  stamped  upon  the  ground  as  if  she  actually  did  it. 

"  Look  here ! "  she  said,  striking  the  scar  again,  with  a  relentless  hand. 
"When  he  grew  into  the  better  understanding  of  what  he  had  done  he  saw  it, 
and  repented  of  it !  I  could  sing  to  him,  and  tfdk  to  him,  and  show  the 
ardor  that  I  felt  in  all  he  did,  and  attain  with  labor  to  such  knowledge  as 
most  interested  him ;  and  I — attracted  him.  When  he  was  freshest  and  truest 
he  loved — me.  Yes,  he  did !  Many  a  time  when  3/0M— .-were  put  off  with  a 
slight  word  he  has  taken  Me  to  his  heart !  " 

She  said  it  with  a  taunting  pride  in  the  midst  of  her  frenzy — for  it  was 
little  less — yet  with  an  eager  remembrance  of  it,  in  which  the  smouldering 
embers  of  a  gentler  feeling  kindled  for  the  moment. 

'•  I  descended — as  I  might  have  known  I  should — into  a  doll,  a  trifle  for  the 
occupation  of  an  idle  hour,  to  be  dropped,  and  taken  up,  and  trifled  with,  as 
the  inconstant  humor  took  him.  When  lie  grew  wearj',  /  grew  weary.  As 
his  fancy  died  out,  I  would  no  more  have  tried  to  strengthen  any  power  I  had 
than  I  would  have  married  him  on  his  being  forced  to  take  me  for  his  wife. 
We  fell  away  from  one  another  without  a  word.  Perhaps  you  saw  it,  and 
were  not  sorry.  Since  then  I  have  been  a  mere  disfigured  piece  of  furniture 
between   you   bothj   having  no  eyes,  no   ears,  no  feelings,  no  remembrances. 


218  MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION. 

Moan?  Moan  for  what  you  made  him ;  not  for  your  love.  I  tell  you  that  the 
time  was  when  /  loved  him  better  than  you  ever  did  !" 

She  stood  with  her  bright  angry  eyes  confronting  the  wide  stare  and  the 
set  face;  and  softened  no  more  when  the  moaning  was  repeated  than  if  the 
face  had  been  a  picture. 

"  Miss  Dartle,"  said  I,  "  if  you  can  be  so  obdurate  as  not  to  feel  for  this 
afflicted  mother — " 

"Who  feels  for  me?"  she  sharply  retorted.  "She  has  sown  this.  Let  her 
moan  for  the  harvest  that  she  reaps  to-day!  " 

"  And  if  his  faults—"  I  began. 

"Faults!''  she  cried,  bursting  into  passionate  tears.  "Who  dares  malign 
him  ?     He  had  a  soul  worth  millions  of  the  friends  to  whom  ho  stooped! " 

"  No  one  can  have  loved  him  better,  no  one  can  hold  him  in  dearer  remem- 
brance, than  I/'  I  replied.  "  I  meant  to  say,  if  you  have  no  compassion  for 
his  afflicted  mother;  or  if  his  faults — you  have  been  bitter  on  them — " 

"  It 's  false"  she  cried,  tearing  her  black  hair ;  "I  loved  him  ! " 

" — can  not,"  I  went  on,  "  be  banished  from  your  remembrance  in  such  an 
hour,  look  at  thai  figure,  even  as  one  you  have  never  seen  before,  and  render  it 
some  help !" 

All  this  time  the  figure  was  unchanged,  and  looked  unchangeable.  Motion- 
less,— rigid, — staring ;  moaning  in  the  same  dumb  way  from  time  to  time,  with 
the  same  helpless  motion  of  the  head ;  but  giving  no  other  sign  of  life.  Miss 
Dartle  suddenly  kneeled  down  before  it  and  began  to  loosen  the  dross. 

"A  curse  upon  you !  "  she  said,  looking  round  at  me,  with  a  mingled  ex- 
pression of  rage  and  grief.  "  It  was  in  an  evil  hour  that  you  ever  came  here ! 
A  curse  upon  you  !     Go !  " 

After  passing  out  of  the  room  I  hurried  back  to  ring  the  bell,  the  sooner 
to  alarm  the  servants.  She  had  then  taken  the  impassive  figure  in  her  arms, 
and,  still  upon  her  knees,  was  weeping  over  it,  kissing  it,  calling  to  it,  rocking 
it  to  and  fro  upon  her  bosom  like  a  child,  and  trying  every  tender  means  to 
rouse  the  dormant  senses.  No  longer  afraid  of  leaving  her,  I  noiselessly 
turned  back  again;  and  alarmed  the  house  as  I  went  out. 

Later  in  the  day  I  returned,  and  we  laid  him  in  his  mother's  room.  She 
was  just  the  same,  they  told  mo;  Miss  Dartle  never  left  her;  doctors  were  in 
attendance;  many  things  had  been  tried;  but  she  lay  like  a  statue,  except  for 
the  low  sound  now  and  then. 

I  went  through  the  dreary  house  and  darkened  the  windows.  The  windows 
of  the  chamber  where  he  lay  I  darkened  last.  I  lifted  up  the  leaden  hand 
and  held  it  to  my  heart ;  and  all  the  world  seemed  death — and  silence,  broken 
only  by  his  motliei'' s  moaning. 

IV.— A  SINGULAR  COINCIDENCE. 

The  noise  and  bustle  which  ushered  in  the  morning  were  sufficient  to  dispel 
from  the  mind  of  the  most  romantic  visionary  in  existence  any  associations  but 
those  which  were  immediately  connected  with  the  rapidly-approaching  election. 
The  beating  of  drums,  the  blowing  of  horns  and  trumpets,  the  shouting  of  men, 
and  tramping  of  horses  echoed  and  re-echoed  through  the  streets  from  the 
earliest  dawn  of  day,  and  an  occasional  fight  between  the  light  skirmishers  of 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  219 

either  party  at  once  enlivened  the  preparations  and  agreeably  diversified  their 
character. 

"  Well,  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  as  his  valet  appeared  at  his  bed-room  door 
just  as  he  was  concluding  his  toilet;  "all  alive  to-day,  I  suppose?" 

"Keg'lar  game,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Weller;  "our  people  s  a  collecting  down 
at  the  Town  Arms,  and  they're  a  hollering  themselves  hoarse  already." 

"Ah,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  "do  they  seem  devoted  (o  their  party,  Sam?" 

"  Never  see  such  dewotion  in  my  life,  sir." 

"Energetic,  eh?"  said  Mr.  Pickwick. 

"  Uncommon,"  replied  Sam ;  "  I  never  see  men  eat  and  drink  so  much 
afore.     I  wonder  they  aint  afeer'd  o'  bustin'." 

"  That 's  the  mistaken  kindness  of  the  gentry  here,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick. 

"  Wery  likely,"  replied  Sam,  briefly. 

"  Fine,  fresh,  hearty  fellows  they  seem,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  glancing  from 
the  window. 

"  Wery  fresh,"  replied  Sam ;  "  me  and  the  two  waiters  at  the  Peacock  has 
been  a  pumpin'  over  the  independent  woters  as  supped  there  last  night." 

"  Pumping  over  independent  voters ! '."  exclaimed  Mr.  Pickwick. 

"  Yes,"  said  his  attendant ;  "  every  man  slept  vere  he  fell  down ;  we  dragged 
'em  out,  one  by  one,  this  mornin'  and  put  'em  under  the  pump,  and  they're  in 
reg'lar  fine  order  now.     Shillin'  a  head  the  committee  paid  for  that  'ere  job.' 

"Can  such  things  be?"  exclaimed  the  astonished  Mr.  Pickwick. 

"  Lord  bless  your  heart,  sir,"  said  Sam;  "  why  where  was  you  half  baptized? 
That's  nothin',  that  aint." 

"Nothing?"  said  Mr.  Pickwick. 

"Nothin'  at  all,  sir,"  replied  his  attendant.  "The  night  afore  the  day  o' 
the  last  election  here  the  opposite  party  bribed  the  bar-maid  at  the  Town  Arms 
to  hocus  the  brandy  and  water  of  fourteen  unpolled  electors  as  was  a  stoppin' 
in  the  house." 

"W^hat  do  you  mean  by  'hocussing'  brandy  and  water?"  inquired  Mr. 
Pickwick. 

"  Puttin'  laud'num  in  it,"  replied  Sam.  "  Blessed  if  she  did  n't  send  'em  all 
to  sleep  till  twelve  hours  arter  the  election  was  over.  They  took  one  man  up  to 
the  booth  in  a  truck,  fast  asleep,  by  way  of  experiment,  but  it  was  no  go — 
they  would  n't  poll  him ;  so  they  brought  him  back  and  put  him  to  bed  again." 

"Strange  practices,  these,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  half  speaking  to  himself  and 
half  addressing  Sam. 

"  Not  half  so  strange  as  a  miraculous  circumstance  as  happened  to  my  own 
father,  at  an  election  time,  in  this  wery  place,  sir,"  replied  Sam. 

"What  was  that?"  inquired  Mr.  Pickwick. 

"Why,  he  drove  a  coach  down  here  once,"  said  Sam;  "'lection  time  came 
on,  and  he  was  engaged  by  vun  party  to  bring  down  woters  from  London. 
Night  afore  he  was  going  to  drive  up,  committee  on  t'  other  side  sends  for  him 
quietly,  and  away  he  goes  vith  the  messenger,  who  shows  him  in — large  room — 
lots  of  gen'l'm'n — heaps  of  papers,  pens  and  ink,  and  all  that  'ere.  'Ah,  Mr. 
Weller,'  says  the  gen'l'm'n  in  the  chair,  'glad  to  see  you,  sir;  how  are  you?' 
'Wery  well,  thank 'ee,  sir,'  says  my  father;  '  I  hope  2/o«< 're  pretty  middlin',' 
says  he.  'Pretty  well,  thank 'ee,  sir,'  says  the  gen'l'm'n;  'sit  down,  Mr.  Weller; 
pray  sit  down,  sir.'     So  my  father  sits  down,  and  he  and  the  gen'l'm'n  looks 


220  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

•wery  hard  at  each  other.  'You  don't  remember  me?'  says  the  gen'l'm'n. 
'Can't  say  I  do,'  says  my  father.  'Oh,  I  know  you,'  says  the  gen'l'm'n; 
'know  'd  you  ven  you  was  a  boy,'  says  he.  '  Well,  I  do  n't  remember  }"ou,'  says 
my  father.  'That's  wery  odd,'  says  the  gen'l'm'n.  'Wery,'  says  my  father. 
'You  must  have  a  bad  memory,  Mr.  Weller,'  says  the  gen'l'm'n.  'Well,  it 
is  a  wery  bad  'un,'  says  my  father.  'I  thought  so,'  says  the  gen'l'm'n.  So 
then  they  pours  him  out  a  glass  o'  wine,  and  gammons  him  about  his  driving, 
and  gets  him  into  a  reg'lar  good  humor,  and  at  last  shoves  a  twenty-pound 
note  in  his  hand.  '  It 's  a  wery  bad  road  between  this  and  London,'  says 
the  gen'l'm'n.  'Here  and  there  it  is  a  wery  heavy  road,'  says  my  father. 
''Specially  near  the  canal,  I  think,'  says  the  gen'l'm'n.  'Nasty  bit,  that  'ere,' 
says  my  father.  'Well,  Mr.  Weller,'  says  the  gen'l'm'n,  'you  're  a  wery  good 
■whip,  and  can  do  what  you  like  with  your  horses,  we  know.  We're  all  wery 
fond  of  you,  Mr.  Weller,  so  in  case  you  should  have  an  accident  when  you  're 
a  bringing  these  here  woters  down,  and  should  tip  'em  over  into  the  canal  with- 
out hurtin'  'em,  this  is  for  yourself,'  says  he.  'Gen'l'm'n,  you're  wery  kind,' 
says  vay  father,  'and  I'll  drink  your  health  in  another  glass  of  wine,'  says  he; 
vich  he  did,  and  then  buttons  up  the  money  and  bows  himself  out.  You 
wouldn't  believe,  sir,"  continued  Sam,  with  a  look  of  inexpressible  impudence 
at  his  master,  "that  on  the  wery  day  as  he  came  down  with  them  woters  his 
coach  was  upset  on  that  'ere  wery  spot,  and  ev'ry  man  on  'em  was  turned  into 
the  canal." 

"  And  got  out  again  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Pickwick,  hastily. 

"Why,"  replied  Sam,  very  slowly,  "I  rather  think  that  one  old  gentleman 
was  missin' ;  I  know  his  hat  was  found,  but  I  aint  quite  certain  whether  his 
head  was  in  it  or  not.  But  what  I  look  at  is  the  hextraordinary  and  won- 
derful coincidence,  that  arter  what  that  gen'l'm'n  said  my  father's  coach 
should  be  upset  in  that  wery  place  on  that  wery  day !  " 

"  It  is,  no  doubt,  a  very  extraordinary  circumstance  indeed,"  said  Mr. 
Pickwick.  "  But  brush  my  hat,  Sam,  for  I  hear  Mr.  Winkle  calling  me  to 
breakfast." 

With  these  words  Mr.  Pickwick  descended  to  the  parlor,  where  he  found 
breakfast  laid,  and  the  familj'  already  assembled. 

v.— MK.  PICKWICK  AND  MPvS.  BARBELL. 

To  any  one  acquainted  with  the  domestic  economj'  of  the  establishment, 
and  conversant  with  the  admirable  regulation  of  Mr.  Pickwick's  mind,  his 
appearance  and  behavior  on  the  morning  previous  to  that  which  had  been 
fixed  upon  for  the  journey  to  Eatanswill  would  have  been  most  mysterious  and 
unaccountable.  He  paced  the  room  to  and  fro  with  hurried  steps,  popped  his 
head  out  of  the  window  at  intervals  of  about  three  minutes  each,  constantly 
referred  to  his  watch,  and  exhibited  many  other  manifestations  of  impatience 
very  unusual  with  him.  It  was  evident  that  something  of  great  importance 
was  in  contemplation,  but  what  that  something  was  not  even  Mrs.  Bardell 
herself  had  been  enabled  to  discover. 

"  Mrs.  Bardell,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  as  that  amiable  female  approached  the 
termination  of  a  prolonged  dusting  of  the  apartment. 

"  Sir,"  said  Mrs.  Bardell. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  221 

"Your  little  boy  is  a  very  long  time  gone." 

"  Why,  it 's  a  good  long  way  to  the  Borough,  sir." 

"Ah,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  "very  true;  so  it  is."  Mr.  Pickwick  relapsed 
into  silence,  and  Mrs.  Bardell  resumed  her  dusting.  "  Mrs.  Bardell,"  said  Mr. 
Pickwick,  at  the  expiration  of  a  few  minutes. 

"  Sir,"  said  Mrs.  Bardell  again. 

"Do  you  think  it's  a  much  greater  expense  to  keep  two  people — than  to 
keep  one?  " 

"  La,  Mr.  Pickwick,"  said  Mrs.  Bardell,  coloring  up  to  the  very  border  of 
her  cap,  as  she  fancied  she  observed  a  species  of  matrimonial  twinkle  in  the 
eyes  of  her  lodger.     "  La,  Mr.  Pickwick,  what  a  question  !  " 

"Well,  but  do  you?" 

"That  depends,"  said  Mrs.  Bardell,  approaching  the  duster  very  near  to 
Mr.  Pickwicks  elbow,  which  was  planted  on  the  table,  " that  depends  a  good 
deal  upon  the  person,  you  know,  Mr.  Pickwick,  and  whether  it's  a  saving  and 
careful  person,  sir." 

"That's  very  true;  but  the  person  I  have  in  my  eye  (here  he  looked  very 
hard  at  Mrs.  Bardell)  I  think  possesses  these  qualities,  and  has  moreover  a 
considerable  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  a  ffreai  deal  of  sharpness,  Mrs. 
Bardell,  which  may  be  of  material  use  to  me." 

"  La,  Mr.  Pickwick,"  said  Mrs.  Bardell,  the  crimson  rising  to  her  cap- 
border  again. 

"I  do  indeed;  and  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Mrs.  Bardell,  I  have  made  up 
my  mind." 

"Dear  me,  sir,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bardell. 

"You'll  think  it  not  very  strange  now,''  said  the  amiable  Mr.  Pickwick, 
with  a  good-humored  glance  at  his  companion,  "  that  I  never  constdted  you 
about  this  matter,  and  never  mentioned  it  till  I  sent  your  little  boy  out  this 
morning,  eh?" 

Mrs.  Bardell  could  only  reply  by  a  look.  She  had  long  worshiped  Mr. 
Pickwick  at  a  distance,  but  here  she  was,  all  at  once,  raised  to  a  pinnacle  to 
which  her  wildest  and  most  extravagant  hopes  had  never  dared  to  aspire.  Mr. 
Pickwick  was  going  to  propose — a  deliberate  plan  too — sent  her  little  boy  to 
the  Borough  to  get  him  out  of  the  way;  how  thoughtful — how  considerate! 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  "what  do  you  think?" 

"O  Mr.  Pickwick,"  said  Mrs.  Bardell,  trembling  with  agitation,  "you're 
very  kind,  sir." 

"It  '11  save  you  a  good  deal  of  trouble,  won't  it?  "  said  Mr.  Pickwick. 

"Oh,  I  never  thought  any  thing  of  the  trouble,  sir,"  replied  Mrs.  Bardell; 
"and  of  course  I  should  take  more  trouble  to  please  you  then  than  ever; 
but  it  is  so  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Pickwick,  to  have  so  much  consideration  for  my 
loneliness." 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure ;  I  never  thought  of  that.  When  I  am  in  town  you  '11 
always  have  somebody  to  sit  with  you.     To  be  sure,  so  j'ou  will." 

"I  'm  sure  I  ought  to  be  a  very  happy  woman." 

"  And  your  little  boy,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick;  "he  too  will  have  a  companion, 
a  lively  one,  who  '11  teach  him,  I  '11  be  bound,  more  tricks  in  a  week  than  he 
would  ever  learn  in  a  year."     And  Mr.  Pickwick  smiled  placidly. 

"Oh,  you  dear — "  said  Mrs.  Bardell. 


222  MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION. 

Mr.  Pickwick  started. 

"Oh,  you  kind,  good,  playful  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Bardcll;  and  without  more 
ado  she  rose  from  her  chair  and  flung  her  arms  round  Mr.  Pickwick's  neck, 
with  a  cataract  of  tears  and  a  chorus  of  sobs. 

"Bless  my  soul,"  cried  the  astonished  Mr.  Pickwick;  "Mrs.  Bardell,  my 
good  woman — dear  me,  what  a  situation — pray  consider.  Mrs.  Bardell,  do  n't — 
if  any  body  should  come — " 

"Oh,  let  them  come,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bardell  frantically;  "I  '11  weye?- leave 
you,  dear,  kind^  good  soul;"  and  with  these  words  Mrs.  Bardell  clung  the 
tighter. 

"Mercy  upon  me,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  struggling  violently,  "I  hear  some- 
body coming  up  the  stairs.  Don't,  don't,  there's  a  good  creature,  don't." 
But  entreaty  and  remonstrance  were  alike  unavailing;  for  Mrs.  Bardell  had 
fainted  in  Mr.  Pickwick's  arms;  and  before  he  could  gain  time  to  deposit  her 
on  a  chair  Master  Bardell  entered  the  room,  ushering  in  Mr.  Tubman,  3Ir. 
Winkle,  and  Mr.  Snodgrass. 

Mr.  Pickwick  was  struck  motionless — and — speechless.  He  stood  with  his 
lovely  burden  in  his  arms,  gazing  vacantly  on  the  countenances  of  his  friends, 
without  the  slightest  attempt  at  recognition — or  explanation.  They,  in  their 
turn,  stared  at  him ;  and  Master  Bardell,  in  his  turn,  stared — at  every  body. 

The  astonishment  of  the  Pickwickians  was  so  absorbing,  and  the  perplexity 
of  Mr.  Pickwick  was  so  extreme,  that  they  might  have  remained  in  exactly 
the  same  relative  situations  until  the  suspended  animation  of  the  lady  was 
restored  had  it  not  been  for  a  most  beautiful  and  touching  expression  of  filial 
affection  on  the  part  of  her  youthful  son.  Clad  in  a  tight  suit  of  corduroy, 
spangled  with  brass  buttons  of  a  very  considerable  size,  he  at  first  stood  at  the 
door  astounded  and  uncertain;  but  by  degrees  the  impression  that  his  mother 
must  have  suff"ered  some  personal  damage  pervaded  his  partially  developed 
mind,  and,  considering  Mr.  Pickwick  as  the  aggressor,  he  set  up  an  appalling 
and  semi-earthly  kind  of  howling,  and  butting  forward  with  his  head  com- 
menced assailing  that  immortal  gentleman  about  the  back  and  legs  with  such 
blows  and  pinches  as  the  strength  of  his  arm  and  the  violence  of  his  excitement 
allowed. 

"Take  this  little  villain  away,"  said  the  agonized  Mr.  Pickwick;  "he's 
mad." 

"What  IS  the  matter  ?  "  said  the  three  tongue-tied   Pickwickians. 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Mr.  Pickwick,  pettishly.  "Take  away  the  boy — " 
(here  Mr.  Winkle  carried  the  interesting  boy,  screaming  and  struggling,  to  the 
farther  end  of  the  apartment). — "Now  help  me  to  lead  this  woman  down  stairs." 

"  Oh,  I  am  better  now,"  said  Mrs.  Bardell,  faintly. 

"  Let  me  lead  you  down  stairs,"  said  the  ever-gallant  Mr.  Tupman. 

"Thank  you,  sir — thank  you  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bardell,  hysterically.  And 
down  stairs  she  was  led  accordingly,  accompanied  by  her  affectionate  son. 

"  I  can  not  conceive,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  when  his  friend  returned — "  I 
can  not  conceive — what  has  been  the  matter  with  that  woman.  I  had  merely 
announced  to  her  my  intention  of  keeping  a  man-servant,  when  she  fell  into 
the  extraordinary  paroxysm  in  which  you  found  her.  Very  extraordinary 
thing." 

^^Very"  said  his  three  friends. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  223 

"  Placed  me  in  such  an  extremely  awkward  situation,"  continued  Mr. 
Pickwick. 

"Very!"  was  the  reply  of  his  followers,  as  they  coughed  slightly,  and 
looked  dubiously  at  each  other. 

This  behavior  was  not  lost  upon  Mr.  Pickwick.  He  remarked  their  in- 
credulity.    They  evidently  suspected  him. 

"  There  is  a  man  in  the  passage  now,"  said  Mr.  Tupman. 

"It's  the  man  that  I  spoke  to  you  about,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick.  "  I  sent 
for  him  to  the  Borough  this  morning.  Have  the  goodness  to  call  him  up, 
iSnodgrass." 

Mr.  Snodgrass  did  as  he  was  desired;  and  Mr.  Samuel  Weller  forthwith 
presented  himself. 


With  illustration  simple,  yet  profound,  and  with  unfaltering  zeal, 
He  spake  from  a  warm  heart,  and  made  even  cold  hearts  /eel; 
This  is  eloquence;  'tis  the  intense, 

Impassioned  fervor  of  a  mind,  deep  fraught 
With  native  energy,  when  soul,  and  setise 

Burst  forth,  embodied  in  the  burning  thought; 
When  look,  emotion,  tone,  and  all  combine; 
When  the  whole  man  is  eloquent  with  mind; 
A  form  that  comes  not  to  the  call  or  quest. 
But  from  the  gifted  soul,  and  the  deep-feeling  breast. 

VI.— MARCO  BOZZAEIS.    Halleck. 

At  midnight,  in  his  guarded  tent. 

The  Turk  was  dreaming  of  the  hour 
When  Greece,  her  knee  in  suppliance  bent, 

Should  tremble  at  his  power; 
In  dreams  through  camp  and  court  he  bore 
The  trophies  of  a  conqueror ; 

In  dreams  his  song  of  triumph  heard: 
Then  wore  his  monarch's  signet-ring; 
Then  pressed  that  monarch's  throne, — a  king; 
As  wild  his  thoughts,  and  gay  of  wing. 

As  Eden's  garden  bird. 

At  midnight,  in  the  forest  shades, 

Bozzaris  ranged  his  Suliote  band. 
True  as  the  steel  of  their  tried  blades. 

Heroes  in  heart  and  hand. 
There  had  the  Persian's  thousands  stood; 
There  had  the  glad  earth  drunk  their  blood 

On  old  Platsea's  day; 
And  now  there  breathed  that  haunted  air 
The  sons  of  sires  who  conquered  there, 
With  arm  to  strike,  and  soul  to  dare, 

As  quick,  as  far  as  they. 


224  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

An  hour  passed  on — the  Turk  awoke; 

That  bright  dream  was  his  last; 
He  woke  to  hear  his  sentries  shriek, 
"To  arms!  they  come!  the  Greek!  the  Greek t 
He  woke  to  die  midst  flame,  and  smoke, 
And  shout,  and  groan,  and  saber-stroke. 

And  death-shots  falling  thick  and  fast 
As  lightnings  from  the  mountain  cloud; 
And  heard,  with  voice  as  trumpet  loud, 

Bozzaris  cheer  his  band: 
"Strike — till  the  last  armed  foe  expires; 
Strike — for  your  altars  and  your  fires; 
Strike — for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires ; 

God  and  your  native  land!" 

They  fought — like  brave  men,  long  and  well; 

They  piled  that  ground  with  Moslem  slain; 
They  conquered — but  Bozzaris  fell, 

Bleeding  at  e%'ery  vein. 
His  few  surviving  comrades  saw 
His  smile,  when  rang  their  proud  huzza, 

And  the  red  field  was  won ; 
Then  saw  in  death  his  eyelids  close 
Calmly,  as  to  a  night's  repose, 

Like  flowers  at  set  of  sun. 

Come  to  the  bridal-chamber.  Death ! 

Come  to  the  mother  when  she  feels 
For  the  first  time  her  first-born's  breath; 

Come  when  the  blessed  seals 
That  close  the  pestilence  are  broke. 
And  crowded  cities  wail  its  stroke ; 
Come  in  consumption's  ghastly  form. 
The  earthquake's  shock,  the  ocean's  storm; 
Come  when  the  heart  beats  high  and  warm. 

"With  banquet-song  and  dance  and  wine; 
And  thou  art  terrible !     The  tear. 
The  groan,  the  knell,  the  pall,  the  bier, 
And  all  we  know  or  dream  or  fear 

Of  agony,  are  thine. 

But  to  the  hero,  when  his  sword 

Has  won  the  battle  for  the  free. 
Thy  voice  sounds  like  a  prophet's  word; 
And  in  its  hollow  tones  are  heard 

The  thanks  of  millions  yet  to  be. 
Bozzaris  !  with  the  storied  brave 

Greece  nurtured  in  her  glory's  time, 
Rest  thee — there  is  no  prouder  grave 

Even  in  her  own  proud  clime. 


MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION,  £25 

"We  tell  thy  doom  without  a  sigh; 
For  thou  art  Freedom's  now,  and  Fame's; 
One  of  the  few,  the  immortal  names 

That  were  not  born  to  die. 


YII.— POEMS  UNWRITTEN.    Mary  H.  C.  Booth. 

There  are  poems  unwritten  and  songs  unsung 
Sweeter  than  any  that  ever  were  heard; 

Poems — that  wait  for  an  angel  tongue. 
Songs— that  but  long  for  a  paradise-bird. 

Poems — that  ripple  through  lowliest  lives ; 

Poems  unworded  and  hidden  away, 
Down  in  the  soul  where  the  beautiful  thrives 

Sweetly  as  flowers  in  the  airs  of  May. 

Poems — that  only  the  angels  above  us. 

Looking  down  deep  in  our  hearts,  may  behold ; 

Felt, — though  unseen,  by  the  beings  who  love  us, 
Written  on  lives  as  in  letters  of  gold. 

Sing  to  my  soul  the  sweet  song  that  thou  lovest 
Read  me  the  poem  that  never  was  penned, — 

The  wonderful  idyl  of  life  that  thou  givest 
Fresh  from  thy  spirit,  O  beautiful  friend ! 

VIII.— THE  ANGEL  POST. 

I  have  nothing  to  say  to  you,  dearest, — 

Nothing  that  I  can  write, — 
For  all  the  word  that  I  had  to  send 

I  sent  by  the  post  to-night. 

Not  in  the  form  of  a  letter, 

With  mark  and  stamp  and  seal, 
Did  I  trust  the  tender  message 

That  my  soul  had  to  reveal. 

Not  in  a  bunch  of  blossoms, 

Not  in  a  sweet  bouquet. 
Did  I  hide  the  beautiful  meaning 

Of  the  words  I  dared  not  say. 

But  I  sent  the  sweet  heart-music 

No  mortal  on  earth  e'er  wrote. 
What  need  that  the  soul's  soft  melodies 

Be  written  down  by  note? 

So  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  you,  dearest, 

But  to  send  you  my  love  at  most. 
And  the  news  of  my  heart  that  I  can  not  write 

I  send  by  the  Angel  Post. 
15 


226  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

IX.— THE  PAUPEK'S  DEATH-BED.     Mrs.  Southkt. 

Tread  softly, — bow  the  head, — 

In  reverent  silence — bow; — 
No  passing  bell — doth  toll, — 
Yet — an  immortal  soul 

Is  passi?ig — now. 
Strange^'!  however  great. 

With  lowly  reverence  bow; 
There  's  one  in  that  poor  shed, — 
One — by  that  paltry  bed, — 

Greater — than  thou. 
Beneath  that  beggar's  roof, 

Lo!  Death — doth  keep  his  state; 
Enter, — no  crowrfs  attend ; — 
Enter, — no  guards  defend 

This  palace  gate. 
That  pavement, — damp — and  cold^ 

No  smiling  courtiers  tread; 
One  silent  woman  stands 
Lifting  with  meager  hands 

A  dying  head. 
No  smiling  voices  sound  ; 

An  infant — wail  alone; 
A  sob  suppressed ; — agniji 
That  short,  deep  gasp,  and  then 

The  parting  groan  ! 
O  change! — O  v:ondrons — change! 

Burst  are  the  ^?"isort-bars, — 
This  moment — there,  so  low, 
So  agonized, — and  noio — 

Be^^ond  the  stars. 
O  change  I  stupendous  change ! — 

There  lies  the  soulless  clod; 
The  sun  eternal  breaks, 
The  new  immortal  wakes, 

Wakes — with  his  God. 

X.— A  SLIGHT  MISTAKE. 

A  fresh  gale  from  the  north  has  sprung  up,  and  carried  us  off  the  coast 
of  St.  Mary's,  where  we  are  to  land  and  take  in  water ;  so  I  shall  have  time 
to  speak  of  one  peculiarity  of  this  people,  which  has  been  my  study,  more  or 
less,  ever  since  I  came  on  board.  I  find,  on  acquaintance,  one  redeeming  trait, 
which  would  go  far  to  atone  for  many  shortcomings,  because  it  may  finally 
prepare  the  way  to  arrest  and  amend  them.  They  are  more  devout  in  their 
common  life  than  any  other  people  I  have  ever  known.  Do  not  infer  from 
this,  O  Hadgi  Hassan,  that  they  waste  their  time  or  spend  their  money  in  ' 
pilgrimages  to  kiss  the  holy  stone  of  the  Kaaba,  or  perform  its  sacred  walk. 
And  as  to  the  nine  ablutions,  appearances  do  not  indicate  any  very  strict 


MANUAL  OF.  ELOCUTION.  227 

observances  of  this  sort.  But  they  have  certain  forms  of  worship,  which  they 
use  on  almost  all  occasions.  In  their  work  and  in  their  rest,  and  even  in  their 
story-telling,  they  often  call  on  God  in  the  most  earnest  and  vehement  manner, 
and  also  sometimes  on  their  prophet.  They  frequently  invoke  curses  on  their 
enemies;  and  this  I  can  understand  perfectly,  for  it  is  in  strict  accordance 
with  the  word  of  the  great  Prophet,  as  written  in  the  Holy  Book.  But  when 
I  hear  them  pray  God  to  curse  themselves,  and  especially  their  own  eyes,  I  am 
perplexed.  It  may,  however,  be  merely  a  form  of  penance  or  of  self-sacrifice 
which  is  in  use  amongst  them.  There  is  something  in  these  ejaculations  that 
affects  me  strangely— I  could  almost  say  unpleasantly;  yet  I  have  the  strongest 
conviction  of  their  sincerity.  They  have  no  particular  form  for  these  prayers, 
neither  is  their  worship  confined  to  stated  times.  They  do  not  welcome  the 
rising  nor  dismiss  the  setting  sun  with  prajer  and  praise;  but  every  man  is 
permitted  to  adopt  his  own  forms  and  times  for  these  exercises.  I  observe  that 
their  ejaculations  become  more  ardent  when  there  is  a  great  pressure  of  work — 
but  most  especially  when  the  work  goes  wrong.  All  this  is  certainly  very 
natural ;  for  at  such  times  we  feel  more  need  to  call  on  Allah  for  his  help 
and  guidance.  I  have  also  observed  that  the  men  moved  with  much  greater 
celerity  while  under  their  influence.     Does  not  this  show  their  sincerity? 

I  said  that  these  people  have  no  regular  time  for  prayer;  but  there  may  be 
a  slight  mistake  in  this.  A  person  called  a  Chaplain — whifch  is,  I  suppose,  a 
kind  of  Marabout* — calls  all  the  men  together  once  a  week,  on  the  Sabbath 
of  their  Prophet,  and  talks  to  them  awhile.  I  believe  they  call  these  formalities 
devotions;  but  they  have  none  of  the  zeal  and  heartiness  of  the  spontaneous 
exercises;  and  their  gravity  might  very  easily  be  mistaken  for  dullness,  as  both 
speaker  and  hearers  seem  to  feel.  There  is  a  sensible  relief  at  the  close,  when  I 
observe  they  all  get  a  good,  long  inspiration,  and  stretch  themselves  as  if  they 
had  felt  contracted,  or  had  not  breathed  freely  under  the  imposed  restraint. 

1  observe  that  the  Chaplain  never  makes  use  of  any  of  these  forms  of  social 
prayer,  which  are  in  common  use  by  every  other  man  on  board,  from  the 
commodore  down  to  the  cabin-boy.  He  must  either  be  less  devout  by  nature 
than  they,  or  else  he  is  jealous  of  a  wide  diffusion  of  the  religious  principle, 
lest  the  foundations  of  his  place  should  be  undermined  and  his  profession  itself 
destroyed.  Their  worship,  being  spontaneous,  is  more  hearty  and  sincere; 
and  when  they  can  pray  so  well  for  themselves  he  may  reasonably  fear  that 
they  will  hardly  employ  another  to  pray  for  them.  I  have  observed  too  that 
these  ejaculations  are  seldom  uttered,  unless,  as  it  were,  from  habit  or  by 
chance,  in  the  presence  of  the  spiritual  teacher.  Are  they  conscious  of  tres- 
passing on  his  rights,  or  afraid  that  he  will  vindicate  his  prerogative  ? 

An  unexpected  opportunity  for  sending  this  occurs,  and  I  hasten  to  improve 
it.  A  respectable  Arab  traveler  has  just  come  on  board,  from  an  English  ship 
bound  for  Algiers.  I  inclose  in  this  package  a  volume  of  the  writings  of 
Channing.  He  was  a  priest  of  Jesus,  and,  I  am  told,  he  did  great  good  for 
his  people.  His  heart  is  large  and  deep  as  the  ocean.  It  embraces  the  whole 
race,  recognizing  the  good  of  the  lowest.  You  Avill  find  many  an  echo  to  our 
own  thoughts  in  these  volumes.  Let  them  be  the  companions  of  your  most 
sacred  hours.     Let  them  speak  to  you  as  your  bosom  friend ! 

'■'  Priest. 


228  MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION. 

XI.— OUR  FIELD. 

The  orator's  field  is  the  universe  of  mind  and  matter,  and  his  subjects  all 
that  is  known  of  God  and  man.  Study  the  principles  of  things,  and  never  rest 
satisfied  with  the  results  and  applications.  All  distinguished  speakers,  whether 
they  ever  paid  any  systematic  attention  to  the  principles  of  elocution  or  not, 
in  their  most  successful  efforts  conform  to  them;  and  their  imperfections  are 
the  results  of  deviations  from  these  principles.  Think  correctly— v&iYier  than 
finely;  sound  conclusions  are  much  better  than  beautiful  conceptions.  Be  useful 
rather  than  showy;  and  speak  to  the  purpose,  or  not  speak  at  all.  Persons 
become  eminent  by  the  force  of  mind, — the  power  of  thinking  comprehensively, 
deeply,  closely,  usefully.  Rest  more  on  the  thought,  feeling,  and  expression  than 
on  any  particular  style;  for  language  is  like  the  atmosphere — a  medium  of 
vision,  intended  not  to  be  seen  itself,  but  to  make  other  objects  seen;  the  more 
transparent,  however,  the  better. 

XII.— PROFANITY.     E.  H.  Chapin. 

You  whose  blood  would  boil  to  hear  the  venerable  names  of  your  earthly 
parents  hurled  about  in  scoffs  and  jests,  abuse  without  compunction  and  with- 
out thought  the  name  of  your  heavenly  Father!  Finally,  profaneness  is  an 
awful  vice.  Once  more  I  ask,  whose  name  is  it  you  so  lightly  use?  That 
name  of  God — have  you  ever  pondered  its  meaning?  Have  you  ever  thought 
what  it  is  that  you  mingle  thus  with  your  passion  and  your  wit?  It  is  the 
name  of  Him  whom  the  angels  worship  and  whom  the  heaven  of  heavens  can 
not  contain  !  Profane  man  !  though  habit  be  ever  so  stringent  with  you,  when 
the  word  of  mockery  and  of  blasphemy  is  about  to  leap  from  your  lips  think 
of  these  considerations — think  of  God,  and  instead  of  that  rude  oath  cry  out 
in  reverent  prayer,  "Hallowed  be  thy  name!" 

XIII.— THE  ROSE. 

*'  Rose  !  thou  art  the  sweetest  flower 
That  ever  drank  the  amber  shower; 
Rose  !  tliou  art  the  fondest  child 
Of  diinpled  Spring,  the  wood-nymph  wild !  " 

The  rose  is  mentioned  by  the  earliest  writers  of  antiquity  as  an  object  of 
culture.  Herodotus  speaks  of  the  double  rose,  and  Solomon  of  the  Rose  of 
Sharon  and  of  the  plantations  of  roses  at  Jericho.  Theophrastus  tells  us  that 
the  hundred-leaved  rose  grew  in  his  time  on  Mount  Pangasus ;  and  it  appears 
that  the  Isle  of  Rhodes  (Isle  of  Roses)  received  its  name  from  the  culture  of 
roses  carried  on  there.  Roses  were  more  highly  prized  by  the  Romans  than 
any  other  flowers,  and  they  had  even  attained  to  the  luxury  of  forcing  them. 
Under  the  reign  of  Domitian  the  Egyptians  thought  of  offering  to  that 
emperor's  courts,  as  a  magnificent  present,  roses  in  the  middle  of  winter; 
but  this  the  Romans  smiled  at,  so  abundant  were  roses  in  Rome  at  that 
season.  "  In  every  street,"  says  Martial,  "  the  odor  of  spring  is  breathed,  and 
garlands  of  flowers,  freshly  gathered,  are  displayed.  Send  us  corn,  Egyptians ! 
and  we  will  send  you  roses."  Roses  were  employed  both  by  the  Greeks  and 
Romans  to  decorate  their  tombs.     Of  the  history  of  the  rose  from  the  time  of  the 


MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION.  229 

Romans  till  the  time  of  Tournefort,  when  botany  became  a  science,  very  little 
is  known;  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  in  the  dark  ages  they  were  held  in 
esteem  by  all  who  could  procure  thorn.  "When  iSaladin  took  Jerusalem  in  1128 
he  would  not  cuter  the  mosque  of  the  Temple — then  converted  to  a  church 
by  the  Christians — till  the  walls  had  been  thoroughly  washed  and  purified  with 
rose-water.  Voltaire  says  that  after  the  taking  of  Constantinople  by  Mahomet 
II.,  in  14.")3,  the  church  of  St.  Sophia  was  washed  with  rose-water  in  a  similar 
manner  before  it  was  converted  into  a  mosque. 

We  read  in  the  History  of  the  Mogul  Empire,  by  Father  Catron,  that  the 
celebrated  Princess  Nourmahal  filled  an  entire  canal  with  rose-water,  upon 
which  she  was  in  the  habit  of  sailing  along  with  the  Great  Mogul.  The  heat 
of  the  sun  disengaged  the  essential  oil  from  the  rose-water.  This  was  observed 
floating  upon  the  surface  of  the  water,  and  thus  was  made  the  discovery 
of  the  essence,  otto  or  ottar,  of  roses.  Formerly  it  was  the  custom  to  carry 
large  vessels  filled  with  rose-water  to  baptisms.  Bayle  relates,  upon  this 
subject,  that  at  the  birth  of  Rousard  his  nurse,  on  the  way  to  church,  let  him 
fall  upon  a  heap  of  flowers,  and  that  at  this  instant  the  woman  who  held  the 
vessel  of  rose-water  poured  it  upon  the  infant.  Roses  were  often,  in  the  day.s 
of  chivalry,  worn  by  cavaliers  at  tournaments  as  an  emblem  of  their  devotion 
to  love  and  beauty.  The  rose  has  been  a  favorite  subject  with  the  poets  of  all 
countries  in  all  ages.  It  was  dedicated  by  the  Greeks  to  Aurora  as  an  emblem 
of  youth,  from  its  freshness  and  revivifying  fragrance;  to  Venus  as  an  emblem 
of  love  and  beauty,  from  the  elegance  of  its  flowers;  and  to  Cupid  as  an 
emblem  of  fugacity  and  danger,  from  the  fleeting  nature  of  its  charms  and 
the  wounds  inflicted  by  its  thorns.  It  was  given  by  Cupid  to  Harpocrates,  the 
God  of  Silence,  as  a  bribe  to  prevent  him  from  betraying  the  amours  of  Venus, 
and  was  hence  adopted  as  the  emblem  of  silence.  The  rose  was  for  this  reason 
frequently  sculptured  on  the  ceilings  of  drinking  and  feasting-rooms  as  a 
warning  to  the  guests  that  what  was  said  in  moments  of  conviviality  should 
not  be  repeated,  from  which  what  was  intended  to  be  kept  secret  was  said  to 
be  told  "under  the  rose."  The  Greek  poets  say  that  the  rose  was  originally 
white,  but  that  it  was  changed  to  red,  according  to  some,  from  the  blood  of 
Venus,  who  lacerated  her  feet  with  its  thorns  when  rushing  to  the  aid 
of  Adonis ;    and  according  to  others,  from  the  blood  of  Adonis  himself. 

The  fragrance  of  the  rose  is  said  by  the  poets  to  be  derived  from  nectar 
thrown  over  it  by  Cupid,  and  its  thorns  to  be  the  stings  of  the  bees  with  which 
the  arc  of  his  bow  was  strung.  Anacreon  makes  their  birth  coeval  with  those 
of  Venus  and  Minerva: 

"  When  then,  in  strange,  eventful  hour, 
The  earth  produced  an  infant  flower, 
Which  sprang  with  blushing  tinctures  drest 
And  wantou'd  o"er  its  parent  breast, 
The  gods  beheld  this  brilliant  birth, 
And  hail'd  the  rose — the  boon  of  earth." 

Another  fable  relating  to  the  birth  of  the  rose  is  that  Flora,  having  found 
the  dead  body  of  one  of  her  favorite  nymphs,  whose  beauty  could  only  be 
equaled  by  her  virtue,  implored  the  assistance  of  all  the  gods  and  goddesses 
to  aid  her  in  changing  it  into  a  flower  which  all  others  should  acknowledge 
to  be  their  queen.     Apollo  lent  the  vivifying  power  of  his  beams;    Bacchus 


230  MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION". 

bathed  it  in  nectar;  Vertumnus  gave  its  perfume;  Pomona  its  fruits;  and 
Flora  herself  its  diadem  of  flowers.  Other  mythological  writers  relate  that 
the  beautiful  Ehodante,  Queen  of  Corinth,  to  escape  the  persecutions  of  her 
lovers,  attempted  to  seclude  herself  in  the  temple  of  Diana;  but,  being  forced  by 
the  clamor  of  the  people  from  her  sanctuary,  prayed  to  the  gods  to  change  her 
j,ijto  a  rose,  which  still  bears  the  blushes  that  dyed  her  cheeks  when  forced  to 
expose  herself  to  public  gaze,  and  under  which  form  she  is  still  universally 
admired.  A  beetle  is  often  represented  on  antique  gems  as  expiring  sur- 
rounded by  roses;  and  this  is  supposed  to  be  an  emblem  of  a  man  enervated 
by  luxury,  the  beetle  being  said  to  have  such  an  antipathy  to  roses  that  the 
smell  of  them  will  cause  its  death.  Pliny  tells  us  that  they  garnished  their 
dishes  with  these  flowers,  and  cites  the  custom  of  wearing  garlands  of  them 
at  their  feasts.  Cleopatra  received  Antony,  at  one  of  her  banquets,  in  an 
apartment  covered  with  rose-leaves  to  a  considerable  depth;  and  Antony  him- 
self when  dying  begged  to  have  roses  scattered  on  his  tomb. 

The  Koman  generals  who  had  achieved  any  remarkable  victory  were  per- 
mitted to  have  roses  sculptured  on  their  shields.  Rose-water  was  the  favorite 
perfume  of  the  Roman  ladies,  and  the  most  luxurious  even  used  it  in  their  baths. 
The  Turks  believe  that  roses  sprang  from  the  perspiration  of  Mahomet,  for 
which  reason  they  never  tread  upon  a  rose-leaf  or  suffer  one  to  lie  on  the  ground. 
They  also  sculpture  a  rose  on  the  tombstones  of  females  who  die  unmarried. 
In  an  old  mosaic  in  the  cliurch  of  St.  Susan,  at  Rome.  Charlemagne  is  repre- 
sented kneeling  and  receiving  from  St.  Peter  a  standard  covered  with  roses. 
The  custom  of  blessing  the  roses  is  still  preserved  in  Rome,  and  the  day  on 
which  the  ceremony  is  performed  is  called  Dominica  in  Rosa.  The  seal  of 
Luther  was  a  rose.  In  530  St.  Medard,  Bishop  of  Noyon,  instituted  a  festival 
at  Salency,  his  birth-place,  for  adjudging  annually  the  prize  of  a  crown  of  roses 
to  the  girl  who  should  be  acknowledged  by  all  her  competitors  to  be  the  most 
amiable,  modest,  and  dutiful  in  the  village;  and  he  had  the  pleasure  of  crown- 
ing his  own  sister  as  the  first  Rose  Queen.  This  custom  was  continued  to  the 
time  of  Madame  de  Genlis.  In  the  middle  ages  the  knights  at  a  tournament 
wore  a  rose  embroidered  on  their  sleeves,  as  an  emblem  that  gentleness  should 
accompany  courage,  and  that  beauty  was  the  reward  of  valor.  The  French 
Parliament  had  formerh'  a  day  of  ceremony  called  Baillee  de  Roses,  because 
great  quantities  of  roses  were  distributed.  Shakespeare,  who  no  doubt  fol- 
lowed some  old  legend  or  chronicle,  derives  the  assumption  of  the  red  and  the 
white  roses  by  the  rival  houses  of  York  and  Lancaster  from  a  quarrel  in  the 
Temple  Gardens  between  Richard  Plantagenet,  Duke  of  York,  and  the  Earl 
of  Somerset,  the  partisan  of  Henry  of  Lancaster.  Finding  that  their  voices 
were  getting  too  loud,  Plantagenet  proposes  that  they  .shall 

"  In  dumb  significance  proclaim  their  thoughts;" 
adding, 

"  Let  him  who  is  a  true-born  gentleman 

And  stands  upon  the  honor  of  his  birth, 

If  he  supposes  1  have  pleaded  truth. 

From  off  this  briar  pluck  a  white  rose  with  me." 

To  which  Somerset  replies : 

'  Let  him  who  is  no  coward  nor  no  flatterer, 
But  dare  maintain  the  party  of  the  truth. 
Pluck  a  red  rose  from  off  this  thorn  with  me." 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  231 

Their  respective  followers  gathered  the  different-colored  roses ;  and  hence 
tradition  says  these  flowers  were  adopted  as  the  badges  of  the  houses  of  York 
and  Lancaster  during  the  civil  wars  which  afterward  desolated  the  country  for 
more  than  tliirty  years.  The  Kosa  Alba  is  said  to  have  been  the  one  chosen 
as  the  badge  of  the  House  of  York  and  the  Rosa  Gallica  as  that  of  Lancaster. 
The  York  and  Lancaster  rose,  which,  wlicn  it  comes  true,  has  one  half  of  the 
flower  red  and  the  other  half  white,  was  named  in  commemoration  of  the  union 
of  the  two  houses  by  the  mai-riage  of  Henry  VII.  with  Elizabeth  of  York. 

Among  historical  reminiscences  of  the  rose  is  this  charming  allegory:  A 
Turkish  poet,  Abdulkadri,  had  the  design  of  establishing  himself  at  Babylon. 
Tlie  Babylonians  were  unwilling  to  receive  him;  but  they  dared  not  declare 
it  to  him  openlj.  To  malce  him  comprehend  their  thoughts  they  passed  before 
him  with  a  vase  filled  with  water,  that  he  might  understand  that  as  the  vase 
was  full  nothing  could  be  added  to  it;  also,  their  city  was  in  the  same  manner 
filled  with  poets  and  learned  men  until  there  was  no  room  left  for  another. 
Abdulkadri  understood  perfectly  that  enigma,  and  for  his  response  he  stooped, 
picked  up  the  leaf  of  a  rose  that  was  on  the  ground,  placed  it  carefully  on  the 
surface  of  the  water  in  the  vase,  showing  them  that  it  kept  its  place  without 
causing  the  water  to  overflow,  though  the  vase  was  full.  That  act  appeared 
so  marvelous  to  the  Babylonians  that  they  regarded  Abdulkadri  as  a  man  of 
superior  genius,  and  they  conducted  him  in  triumph  to  the  city. 

XIV.— THE  BABOON  AT  HOME. 

Captain  Dayson  had  gone  out  one  morning  to  see  the  sun  rise  in  a  very 
beautiful  part  of  the  desert.  He  says:  "Suddenly  I  heard  a  hoarse  cough,  and 
on  turning  around  saw  distinctlj^  in  the  fog  a  queer  little  old  man  standing 
near,  and  looking  at  me.  I  instinctively  cocked  my  gun,  as  the  idea  of  Bush- 
n^en  and  poisoned  arrows  flashed  across  my  mind.  The  old  man  instantly 
dropped  upon  his  hands,  giving  another  hoarse  cough,  that  evidently  told  a 
tale  of  consumptive  lungs,  snatched  up  something  behind  him,  which  seemed  to 
leap  on  his  shoulders,  and  then  scampered  off  up  the  ravine  on  all  fours.  Before 
half  this  performance  was  completed  I  had  discovered  my  mistake.  The  little 
old  man  turned  out  to  be  an  ursine  baboon,  with  an  infant  ditto,  which  had 
come  down  the  kloof  to  drink.  A  large  party  of  the  old  gentleman's  family 
were  sitting  up  the  ravine,  and  were  evidently  in  a  debate  as  to  the  cause  of 
my  intrusion.  I  watched  them  through  my  glass,  and  was  much  amused  at 
their  grotesque  and  almost  human  movements.  Some  of  the  ladies  had  their 
olive  branches  in  their  laps,  and  appeared  to  be  'doing  their  hair;'  while 
a  patriarchal-looking  old  fellow  paced  backward  and  forward  with  a  sort 
of  fussy  look.  He  was  evidently  on  sentry,  and  seemed  to  think  himself  of  no 
small  importance.  This  estimate  of  his  dignity  did  not  appear  to  be  univer- 
sally acknowledged,  as  two  or  three  young  baboons  sat  close  behind  him 
watching  his  proceedings.  Sometimes,  with  the  most  grotesque  movements 
and  expressions,  they  would  stand  directly  in  his  path,  and  hobble  away  only 
at  the  last  moment.  One  daring  youngster  followed  close  on  the  heels  of  the 
patriarch  during  the  whole  length  of  his  beat,  and  gave  a  sharp  tug  at  his  tail 
as  he  was  about  to  turn.  The  old  fellow  seemed  to  treat  it  with  the  greatest 
indifference,  scarcely  turning  round  at  the  insult.     Master   impudence  was 


232  MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION. 

about  repeating  the  performance,  when  the  pater,  showing  that  he  was  not 
such  a  fool  as  he  looked,  suddenly  sprang  round  and,  catching  the  young  one 
before  he  could  escape,  gave  him  two  or  three  such  cuffs  that  I  could  hear  the 
screams  that  resulted  therefrom.  The  venerable  gentleman  then  chucked  the 
delinquent  over  his  shoulder  and  continued  his  promenade  with  the  greatest 
coolness.  This  old  baboon  evidentl}^  was  acquainted  with  the  practical  details 
of  Solomon's  proverb.  A  crowd  gathered  around  the  naughty  child,  which, 
childlike,  seeing  commiseration,  shrieked  the  louder.  I  even  fancied  I  could 
see  the  angry  glances  of  the  mamma  as  she  took  her  dear  little  pet  in  her 
arms  and  removed  it  from  the  repetition  of  such  brutal  treatment." 

We  are  told  likewise  of  a  tame  baboon  whose  great  delight  was  in  fright- 
ening the  Kafir  women.  On  selecting  his  victim,  he  would  rush  at  her  as  if  he 
intended  to  devour  her,  and  away  she  would  fly  for  dear  life,  dropping  her  basket 
or  hoe.  But  he  soon  caught  hold  of  her,  and,  seizing  her  by  one  leg,  stared  her 
in  the  face,  mewing  and  grinning,  and  moving  his  eyebrows  at  her  like  an 
incarnate  fiend.  When  her  screams  at  length  brought  assistance,  in  the  shape 
of  a  Kafir  cur.  Jocko  sprang  up  a  tree,  and,  resting  secure  upon  an  upper 
branch,  gazed  upward  and  around  with  a  quiet  contemplative  air,  as  though 
he  had  sought  this  elevated  position  for  the  sole  purpose  of  meditating  on  the 
weakness  of  baboon  and  animal  nature  generally,  but  more  particularly  on 
the  foibles  of  excited  Kafir  curs. 

The  baboon  when  tame,  however,  is  sometimes  of  more  use  than  to  frighten 
women,  who  he  knows  will  throw  down  the  hoe  instead  of  breaking  his  head 
with  it.  He  is  made  to  discover  water  in  the  desert  when  his  master  would 
perhaps  perish  without  it.  A  little  salt  is  rubbed  on  his  tongue  to  irritate  his 
thirst,  and  then  he  is  let  go.  He  runs  along  a  bit,  scratches  himself,  shows  his 
teeth,  takes  a  smell  up  wind,  looks  all  around,  picks  up  a  bit  of  grass,  smells 
or  eats  it,  stands  up  for  another  sniff,  canters  on,  and  so  on.  Wherever  the 
nearest  water  is  he  is  sure  to  go. 

XV.— WILLIAM  PITT.     Macaulay. 

Pitt  was  emphatically  the  man  of  parliamentary  government,  the  type 
of  his  class,  the  minion,  the  child,  the  spoiled  child,  of  the  House  of  Commons. 
For  the  House  of  Commons  he  had  an  hereditary,  an  infantine  love.  It  was 
when  the  House  of  Commons  was  to  be  convinced  and  persuaded  that  he  put 
forth  all  his  powers. 

Of  those  powers  we  must  form  our  estimate  chiefly  from  tradition ;  for  of  all 
the  eminent  speakers  of  the  last  age  Pitt  has  suffered  most  from  the  reporters. 
Even  while  he  was  still  living  critics  remarked  that  his  eloquence  could  not  be 
preserved,  that  he  must  be  heard  to  be  appreciated.  There  is,  however,  abun- 
dant evidence  that  nature  had  bestowed  on  Pitt  the  talents  of  a  great  orator; 
and  those  talents  had  been  developed  in  a  very  peculiar  manner:  first,  by  his 
education ;  and  secondly,  by  the  high  oflBcial  position  to  which  he  rose  early, 
and  in  which  he  passed  the  greater  part  of  his  public  life. 

At  his  first  appearance  in  Parliament  he  showed  himself  superior  to  all  his 
contemporaries  in  command  of  language.  He  could  pour  forth  a  long  succes- 
sion of  round  and  stately  periods,  without  premeditation,  without  ever  pausing 
for  a  word,  without  ever  repeating  a  word,  in  a  voice  of  silver  clearness,  and 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  233 

•with  a  pronunciation  so  articulate  that  not  a  letter  was  slurred  over.  His 
declamation  was  copious,  polished,  and  splendid.  In  power  of  sarcasm  he  was 
prohahly  not  surpassed  by  any  speaker,  ancient  or  modern;  and  of  this  formi- 
dable weapon  he  made  merciless  use.  In  two  parts  of  the  oratorical  art  which 
arc  of  the  highest  value  to  a  minister  of  state  he  was  singularly  expert.  No 
man  knew  better  how  to  be  luminous  or  how  to  be  obscure.  When  he  wished 
to  be  understood  he  never  failed  to  make  himself  understood.  He  could  with 
ease  present  to  his  audience,  not  perhaps  an  exact  or  profound,  but  a  clear, 
popular,  and  plausible  view  of  the  most  extensive  and  complicated  subject. 
Nothing  was  out  of  place;  nothing  was  forgotten.  Minute  details,  dates, 
sums  of  mone\',  were  all  faithfully  preserved  in  his  memory.  Even  intricate 
questions  of  finance  when  explained  by  him  seemed  clear  to  the  plainest  man 
among  his  hearers.  On  the  other  hand,  when  he  did  not  wish  to  be  explicit — 
and  no  man  who  is  at  the  head  of  affairs  always  wishes  to  be  explicit — he  had 
a  marvelous  power  of  saying  nothing  in  language  which  left  on  his  audience 
the  impression  that  he  had  said  a  great  deal.  He  was  at  once  the  only  man 
who  could  open  a  budget  without  notes,  and  the  only  man  who,  as  Wyndham 
said,  could  speak  that  most  elaborately  evasive  and  unmeaning  of  human  com- 
positions, a  king's  speech,  without  premeditation. 

XVI.— WARWICK  CASTLE.     H.  W.  Beecher. 

Walking  along  a  high  park  wall  which  forms  one  part  of  the  town,  or 
rather  which  stops  the  town  from  extending  further  in  that  direction — the  top 
covered  with  ivy,  that  gartyietit  of  English  walls  and  buildings — I  come  to  the 
gateway  of  the  approach.  A  porter  opens  its  huge  leaf.  Cut  through  a  solid 
rock,  the  road,  some  twenty  feet  wide,  winds  for  a  long  way  in  the  most  solemn 
beauty.  The  sides,  in  solid  rock,  vary  from  five  to  twenty  feet  in  height — at 
least  so  it  seemed  to  my  imagination,  the  only  faculty  that  I  allowed  to  con- 
duct me.  It  was  covered  on  both  hands  with  ivy,  growing  dow7i  from  above 
and  hanging  in  beautiful  reaches.  Solemn  trees  on  the  bank,  on  either  side, 
met  overhead,  and  cast  a  delicious  twilight  down  upon  my  way,  and  made  it 
yet  softer  by  a  murmuring  of  their  leaves.  Winding  in  graceful  curves,  it  at 
last  brings  you  to  the  first  view  of  the  castle,  at  a  distance  of  some  hundred 
rods  before  you.  It  opens  on  the  sight  with  grandeur.  On  either  corner  is  a 
huge  tower,  apparently  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  high.  In  the  center  is  a 
square  tower,  called  properly  a  gateway;  and  a  huge  wall  connects  this  central 
access  with  the  two  corner  towers.  I  stood  for  a  little,  and  let  the  vision 
pierce  me  through.  Who  can  ieU  what  he  feels  in  such  a  place?  Primeval 
forests,  the  ocean,  prairies,  Niagara,  I  had  seen  and  felt;  but  never  had  I  seen 
any  pile  around  which  were  historic  associations  blended  not  only  with  heroic 
men  and  deeds,  but  savoring  of  my  own  childhood.  And  now  too  am  I  to 
see,  and  understand  by  inspection,  the  things  which  Scott  has  made  so  familiar 
to  all  as  mere  words — moats,  portcullises,  battlements,  keeps  or  mounds,  arrow- 
slit  windows,  watch-towers.  They  had  a  strange  eflTect  upon  me.  They  were 
perfectly  new,  and  yet  familiar  old  friends.  I  had  never  seen  them,  yet  the 
moment  I  did  see  all  was  instantly  plain.  I  knew  name  and  use,  and  seemed 
in  a  moment  to  have  known  them  always. 

I  came  up  to  the  moat,  now  dry  and  lined  with  beautiful  shrubs  and  trees, 


234  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

crossed  the  bridge,  and  entered  the  outer  gateway  or  arched  door,  through  a 
solid  square  tower.  The  portcullis  was  drawn  up,  but  I  could  see  the  pro- 
jecting end.  Another  similar  gateway,  a  few  steps  further  oq,  showed  the 
care  with  which  the  defense  was  managed.  This  passed,  a  large  court  opened, 
.surrounded  on  every  side  with  towers,  walls,  and  vast  ranges  of  buildings. 
Here  I  beheld  the  pictures  which  I  had  seen  on  paper  magnified  into  gigantic 
realities.  Drawings  of  many-faced,  irregular  Gothic  mansions,  measuring  an 
inch  or  two,  with  which  my  childhood  was  familiar,  here  stood  before  me 
measuring  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  feet.  It  was  the  first  sight  of  a  real 
baronial  castle.     It  was  a  historic  dream  breaking  forth  into  a  waking  reality. 

It  is  of  very  little  use  to  tell  you  how  large  the  court  is  by  feet  and  rods, 
or  that  Guy's  Tower  is  one  hundred  and  twenty-eight  feet  high  and  Caesar's 
Tower  one  hundred  and  forty-seven.  But  it  may  touch  your  imagination, 
and  wheel  it  suddenly  backward  with  long  flight  and  wide  vision,  to  say  that 
Caesar's  Tower  has  stood  for  eight  hundred  years,  being  coeval  with  the 
Norman  Conquest!  I  stood  upon  its  mute  stones,  and  imagined  the  ring 
of  the  hammer  upon  them  when  the  mason  was  laying  them  in  their  bed 
of  ages.  When  these  stones  were  placed  it  was  yet  to  be  two  hundred  years 
before  Gower  and  Chaucer  should  be  born.  Indeed  since  this  mortar  was 
wetted  and  cemented  these  stones  the  original  people — the  Normans,  the 
Danes,  the  Saxons — have  been  mixed  together  into  one  people.  When  this 
stone  on  which  I  lean  took  its  place  there  was  not  then  a  printed  book  in 
England.  Printing  was  invented  hundreds  of  years  after  these  foundations 
wejit  down.  W^hen  the  rude  w'orkmen  put  their  shoulders  to  these  stones  the 
very  English  language  lay  unborn  in  the  loins  of  its  parent  tongues.  The 
men  that  laughed  and  jested  as  they  wrought,  and  had  their  pride  of  skill; 
the  architect  and  the  lord  for  whose  praise  he  fashioned  these  stones;  the 
villagers  that  wondered  as  they  looked  upon  the  growing  pile;  why,  they  are 
now  no  more  to  men's  memories  than  the  grass  they  trod  on,  or  the  leaves 
which  they  cast  in  felling  the  oak ! 

Against  these  stones  on  which  I  lay  my  hand  have  rung  the  sounds  of 
battle.  Yonder,  on  these  very  grounds,  there  raged,  in  sight  of  men  that 
stood  where  I  do,  fiercest  and  deadliest  conflicts.  All  this  ground  has  fed 
on  blood. 

I  walked  across  to  Guy's  Tower,  up  its  long  stone  stairway,  into  some  of  its 
old  soldiers'  rooms.  The  paveinents  were  worn,  though  of  stone,  with  the 
heavy  grinding  feet  of  men-at-arms.  I  heard  them  laugh  between  their  cups. 
I  saw  them  devouring  their  gross  food.  I  heard  them  recite  their  feats,  or  tell 
the  last  news  of  some  knightly  outrage,  or  cruel  oppression  of  the  despised 
laborer.  I  stood  by  the  window  out  of  which  the  archer  sent  his  whistling 
arrows.  I  stood  by  the  openings  through  which  scalding  water  or  molten  lead 
were  poured  upon  the  heads  of  assailants;  and  heard  the  hoarse  shriek  of  the 
wretched  fellows  from  below  as  they  got  the  shocking  baptism.  I  ascended 
to  the  roof  of  the  tower,  and  looked  over  the  wide  glory  of  the  scene,  still 
haunted  with  the  same  imaginations  of  the  olden  time.  How  many  thoughts 
have  flown  hence  besides  mine — here  where  warriors  looked  out,  or  ladies 
watched  for  their  knights'  return! 

Grand  and  glorious  were  the  trees  that  waved  in  the  grounds  about  the 
castle;  but,  though  some  of  tUem  had  seen  centuries,  they  were  juvenile  sprouts 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  235 

in  comparison  v/ith  these  old  walls  and  towers  on  which  "William  the  Con- 
queror had  walked. 

Already  the  sun  was  drooping  far  down  the  west  and  sending  its  golden 
glow  sideways  through  the  trees,  and  the  glades  in  the  park  were  gathering 
twilight  as  I  turned  to  give  a  last  look  at  these  strange  scenes.  I  walked 
slowly  through  the  gateway,  crossed  the  bridge  over  the  moat,  turned  and 
looked  back  upon  the  old  towers,  whose  tops  reddened  yet  in  the  sun,  though 
I  was  in  deep  shadow.  Then,  walking  backward,  looking  still,  till  I  came  to 
the  woods,  I  took  my  farewell  of  Warwick  Castle. 

XVII.— A  SABBATH  AT  STKATFORD-ON-AVON. 

As  I  approached  the  church  I  perceived  that  we  were  to  pass  through  the 
churchj'ard  for  some  little  distance;  and  an  avenue  of  lime-trees,  meeting 
overhead,  formed  a  beautiful  way,  through  which  my  soul  exulted  to  go  up 
to  the  house  of  God.  The  interior  was  stately  and  beautiful — it  was  to  me; 
and  I  am  not  describing  anything  to  you-  as  it  was,  but  am  describing  myself 
while  in  the  presence  of  scenes  with  which,  through  books,  you  are  familiar. 
As  I  sat  down  in  a  pow  close  by  the  reading-desk  and  pulpit  I  looked  along 
to  the  chancel,  which  stretched  some  fifty  or  sixty  feet  back  of  the  pulpit  and 
desk,  and  saw  upon  the  wall  the  well-known  bust  of  Shakespeare;  and  I 
knew  that  beneath  the  pavement  under  that  his  dust  reposed. 

In  a  few  minutes  a  little  fat  man,  with  a  red  collar  and  red  cuffs,  advanced 
from  a  side  room  behind  the  pulpit,  and  led  the  way  for  the  rector,  a  man  of 
about  fifty  years,  bald,  except  on  the  sides  of  his  head,  Avhich  were  covered 
■with  white  hair.  I  had  been  anxious  lest  some  Cowper's  ministerial  fop  should 
oflSciatc,  and  the  sight  of  this  aged  man  was  good.  The  form  of  his  face  and 
head  indicated  firmness,  but  his  features  were  suffused  with  an  expression  of 
benevolence.  He  ascended  the  reading-desk,  and  the  services  began.  I  can 
not  tell  you  how  much  I  was  affected.  I  had  never  had  such  a  trance  of 
worship,  and  I  shall  never  have  such  another  view  until  I  gain  the  Gate. 

I  am  so  ignorant  of  the  church  service  that  I  can  not  call  the  various  parts 
by  their  right  names;  but  the  portions  which  most  affected  me  were  the  prayers 
and  responses  which  the  choir  sang.  I  had  never  heard  any  part  of  a  suppli- 
cation— a  direct  prayer — cJutntcd  by  a  choir;  and  it  seemed  as  though  I  heard 
not  with  my  ear,  but  with  my  soul.  I  was  dissolved.  Mj'  whole  being  seemed 
to  me  like  an  incense  wafted  gr..tefully  toward  God.  My  soul,  then  thou  did'st 
magnify  the  Lord,  and  rejoice  in  the  God  of  my  salvation !  And  then  came 
to  my  mind  the  many  exultations  of  the  Psalms  of  David;  and  never  before 
were  the  expressions  and  figures  so  noble  and  so  necessary  to  express  what  I 
felt.  I  had  risen,  it  seemed  to  me,  so  high  as  to  be  where  David  was  when  his 
soul  conceived  the  things  which  he  wrote.  Throughout  the  service,  and  it 
was  an  hour  and  a  quarter  long,  whenever  an  "Amen"  occurred  it  was  given 
by  the  choir,  accompanied  by  the  organ  and  the  congregation.  Oh,  that 
swell  and  solemn  cadence  rings  in  my  ear  yet!  Not  once,  not  a  single  time, 
did  it  occur  in  that  service,  from  beginning  to  end,  without  bringing  tears 
from  my  eyes.  I  stood  like  a  shrub  in  a  spring  morning — every  leaf  covered 
with  dew,  and  every  breeze  shook  down  some  drops.  I  trembled  so  much  at 
times  that  I  was  obliged  to  sit  down.     Oh,  when  in  the  prayers,  breathed  forth 


236  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

in  strains  of  sweet,  simple,  solemn  music,  the  love  of  Christ  was  recognized, 
how  I  longed  then  to  give  utterance  to  what  that  love  seemed  to  me!  There 
was  a  moment  in  which  the  heavens  seemed  opened  to  me,  and  I  saw  the  glory 
of  God!  All  the  earth  seemed  to  me  a  store-house  of  images,  made  to  set 
forth  the  Redeemer;  and  I  could  scarcely  be  still  from  crying  out.  I  never 
knew,  I  never  dreamed  before,  of  what  heart  there  was  in  that  word — amen. 
Every  time  it  swelled  forth,  and  died  away  solemnly,  not  ray  lips,  not  my 
mind,  but  my  whole  being  said — Savior,  so  let  it  be. 

XYIII.— THE  FRENCH  ASSEMBLY  OF  1792.     Macaulay. 

They  are  called  the  Constituent  Assembly.  Never  was  name  less  appro- 
priate. They  were  not  constituent,  but  the  very  reverse  of  constituent.  They 
constituted  nothing  that  stood  or  deserved  to  last.  They  had  not,  and  they 
could  not  possibly  have,  the  information  or  the  habits  of  mind  which  are 
necessary  for  the  framing  of  that  most  exquisite  of  all  machines — a  govern- 
ment. The  metaphysical  cant  with  which  they  prefaced  their  constitution  has 
long  been  the  scoff  of  all  parties.  Their  constitution  itself — that  constitution 
which  they  described  as  absolutely  perfect,  and  for  which  they  predicted  immor- 
tality— disappeared  in  a  few  months,  and  left  no  trace  behind  it.  They  were 
great  only  in  the  work  of  destruction. 

The  glory  of  the  National  Assembly  is  this,  that  they  were  in  truth,  what 
Mr.  Burke  called  them  in  austere  ironj',  the  ablest  architects  of  ruin  that  ever 
the  world  saw.  They  were  utterly  incompetent  to  perform  any  work  which 
required  a  discriminating  eye  and  a  skillful  hand.  But  the  work  which  was 
then  to  be  done  was  a  work  of  devastation.  They  had  to  deal  with  abuses  so 
horrible  and  so  deeplj'  rooted  that  the  highest  political  wisdom  could  scarcely 
have  produced  greater  good  to  mankind  than  was  produced  by  their  fierce  and 
senseless  temeritj'.  Demolition  is  undoubtedly  a  vulgar  task.  The  highest 
glory  of  the  statesman  is  to  construct.  But  there  is  a  time  for  everything — 
a  time  to  set  up,  and  a  time  to  pull  down.  The  talents  of  revolutionary 
leaders  and  those  of  the  legislator  have  equally  their  use  and  their  season.  It 
is  the  natural,  the  almost  universal  law  that  the  age  of  insurrections  and 
proscriptions  shall  precede  the  age  of  good  government,  of  temperate  liberty, 
and  liberal  order. 

And  how  could  it  be  otherwise?  It  is  not  in  swaddling-bands  that  we  learn 
to  walk.  It  is  not  in  the  dark  that  we  learn  to  distinguish  colors.  It  is  not 
under  oppression  that  we  learn  how  to  use  freedom.  The  ordinary  sophism 
by  which  misrule  is  defended  is,  when  truly  stated,  this:  The  people  must 
continue  in  slavery,  because  slavery  has  generated  in  them  all  the  vices  of 
slaves.  Because  they  are  ignorant,  they  must  remain  under  a  power  which 
has  made  and  which  keeps  them  ignorant.  Because  they  have  been  made 
ferocious  by  misgovernment,  they  must  be  misgoverned  forever.  If  the 
system  under  which  they  lived  were  so  mild  and  liberal  that  under  its  opera- 
tion they  had  become  humane  and  enlightened,  it  would  be  safe  to  venture  on 
a  change.  The  English  Revolution,  it  is  said,  was  truly  a  glorious  revolution. 
Practical  evils  were  redressed;  no  excesses  were  committed;  no  sweeping 
confiscations  took  place;  the  authority  of  the  laws  was  scarcely  for  a  moment 
suspended;  the  fullest  and  freest  discussion  was  tolerated  in  Parliament;  the 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  237 

nation  showed  by  the  calm  and  temperate  manner  in  which  it  asserted  its 
liberty  that  it  was  fit  to  enjoy  liberty.  The  French  Revolution  was,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  most  horrible  event  recorded  in  history, — all  madness  and 
wickedness, — absurdity  in  theory,  and  atrocity  in  practice.  "What  folly  and 
injustice  in  the  revolutionary  laws!  What  fanaticism!  What  licentiousness! 
What  cruelty!  This  it  is  to  give  freedom  to  those  who  have  neither  wisdom 
nor  virtue. 

It  would  be  impossible  even  to  glance  at  all  the  causes  of  the  French  Rev- 
olution within  the  limits  to  which  we  must  confine  ourselves.  One  thing  is 
clear.  The  government,  the  aristocracy,  and  the  church  were  rewarded  after 
their  works.  They  reaped  that  which  they  had  sown.  They  found  the  nation 
such  as  they  had  made  it.  That  the  people  had  become  possessed  of  irresist- 
ible power  before  they  had  attained  the  slightest  knowledge  of  the  art  of 
government — that  practical  questions  of  vast  moment  were  left  to  be  solved 
by  men  to  whom  politics  had  been  only  matter  of  theory — that  a  legislature 
was  composed  of  persons  who  were  scarcely  fit  to  compose  a  debating  society — 
that  the  whole  nation  was  ready  to  lend  an  ear  to  any  flatterer  who  appealed 
to  its  cupidity,  to  its  fears,  or  to  its  thirst  for  vengeance — all  this  was  the  efl'eot 
of  misrule,  obstinately  continued  in  defiance  of  solemn  warnings  and  of  the 
visible  signs  of  an  approaching  retribution. 


XIX.— DEFEAT  OF  THE  SPANISH  ARMADA.    J.  Lathrop  Motley. 

Never,  since  England  was  England,  had  such  a  sight  been  seen  as  now 
revealed  itself  in  those  narrow  straits  between  Dover  and  Calais.  Along  that 
long,  low,  sandy  shore,  and  quite  within  the  range  of  the  Calais  fortifications, 
one  hundred  and  thirty  Spanish  ships — the  greater  number  of  them  the  largest 
and  most  heavily  armed  in  the  world — lay  face  to  face,  and  scarcely  out  of 
cannon  shot,  with  one  hundred  and  fifty  English  sloops  and  frigates,  the 
strongest  and  swiftest  that  the  island  could  furnish,  and  commanded  by  men 
whose  exploits  had  rung  through  the  world. 

It  was  a  pompous  spectacle,  that  midsummer  night,  upon  those  narrow 
seas.  The  moon,  which  was  at  the  full,  was  rising  calmly  upon  a  sea  of 
anxious  expectation.  Would  she  not  be  looking  by  the  morrow's  night  upon 
a  subjugated  England,  a  re-enslaved  Holland — upon  the  downfall  of  civil  and 
religious  liberty?  Those  ships  of  Spain,  which  lay  there  with  their  banners 
waving  in  the  moonlight,  discharging  salvoes  of  anticipated  triumph,  and 
filling  the  air  with  strains  of  insolent  music,  would  they  not  by  daybreak  be 
moving  straight  to  their  purpose,  bearing  the  conquerors  of  the  world  to  the 
scene  of  their  cherished  hopes? 

That  English  fleet  toe  which  rode  there  at  anchor,  so  anxiously  on  the 
watch,  would  that  swarm  of  nimble,  lightly-handled,  but  slender  vessels, 
which  had  held  their  own  hitherto  in  hurried  and  desultory  skirmishes,  be 
able  to  cope  with  their  great  antagonist  now  that  the  moment  had  arrived 
for  the  death  grapple?  Would  not  Howard,  Drake,  Frobisher,  Seymour, 
Winter,  and  Hawkins  be  swept  out  of  the  straits  at  last,  yielding  an  open 
passage  to  Medina,  Oquendo,  Recalde,  and  Farnese?  Would  those  Hollanders 
and  Zealanders,  cruising  so  vigilantly  among  their  treacherous  shallows,  dare 


238  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTTOX. 

to  maintain  their  post  now  that  the  terrible  Holofernes  with  his  invincible 
legions  was  resoh'ed  to  come  forth? 

Next  day,  Sunday,  August  7,  1588,  the  two  great  fleets  were  still  lying 
but  a  mile  and  a  half  apart,  calmly  gazing  at  each  other,  and  rising  and 
falling  at  their  anchors  as  idly  as  if  some  vast  summer  regatta  were  the  only 
purpose  of  that  great  assemblage  of  shipping.  Nothing  as  yet  was  heard  of 
Farnese.  Thus  far,  at  least,  the  Hollanders  had  held  him  at  bay,  and  there 
was  still  breathing-time  before  the  catastrophe 

On  the  other  hand,  upon  the  decks  of  the  Armada  there  was  an  impatience 
that  night  which  increased  every  hour.  The  governor  of  Calais,  M.  de 
Gourdon,  had  sent  his  nephew  on  board  the  flag-ship  of  Medina  Sidonia  with 
courteous  salutations,  professions  of  friendship,  and  bountiful  refreshments. 
There  was  no  fear — now  that  Mucio  was  for  the  time  in  the  ascendency — 
that  the  schemes  of  Philip  would  be  interfered  with  by  France.  The  governor 
had,  however,  sent  serious  warning  of  the  dangerous  position  in  which  the 
Armada  had  placed  itself.  He  was  quite  right.  Calais  roads  were  no  safe 
anchorage  for  huge  vessels  like  those  of  Spain  and  Portugal;  for  the  tides 
and  cross-currents  to  which  they  were  exposed  were  most  treacherous.  It  was 
calm  enough  at  the  moment;  but  a  westerly  gale  might  in  a  few  hours  drive  the 
whole  fleet  hopelessly  among  the  sand-banks  of  the  dangerous  Fleming  coast. 

And  the  impatience  of  the  soldiers  and  sailors  on  board  the  fleet  was  equal 
to  that  of  their  commanders.  There  was  London  almost  before  their  eyes — 
a  huge  mass  of  treasure,  richer  and  more  accessible  than  those  mines  beyond 
the  Atlantic  which  had  so  often  rewarded  Spanish  chivalry  with  fabulous 
wealth.  And  there  were  men  in  those  galleons  who  remembered  the  sack  of 
Antwerp,  a  few  years  before — men  who  could  tell  from  personal  experience 
how  helpless  was  a  great  commercial  city  when  once  in  the  clutch  of  disciplined 
brigands — men  who,  in  that  dread  "fury  of  Antwerp,"  had  enriched  themselves 
in  an  hour  with  the  accumulations  of  a  merchant's  life-time,  and  who  had  slain 
fathers  and  mothers,  sons  and  daughters,  brides  and  bridegrooms  before  each 
others'  eyes,  until  the  number  of  inhabitants  butchered  in  the  blazing  streets 
rose  to  many  thousands;  and  the  plunder  from  palaces  and  warehouses  was 
counted  by  millions  before  the  sun  had  set  on  the  "great  fury."  Those  Spaniards 
and  Italians  and  Walloons  were  now  thirsting  for  more  gold,  for  more  blood; 
and  as  the  capital  of  England  was  even  more  wealthy  and  far  more  defenseless 
than  the  commercial  metropolis  of  the  Netherlands  had  been,  so  it  was  resolved 
that  the  London  "fury"  should  yield  them  a  richer  harvest  than  that  of  Ant- 
werp, at  the  memory  of  which  the  world  still  shuddered.  And  these  profes- 
sional soldiers  had  been  taught  to  consider  the  English  as  a  pacific,  delicate, 
effeminate  race,  dependent  on  good  living,  without  experience  of  war,  quickly 
fatigued  and  discouraged,  and  even  more  easily  to  be  plundered  and  butchered 
than  were  the  excellent  burghers  of  Antwerp. 

And  so  these  southern  conquerors  looked  down  from  their  great  galleons 
and  galliasses  upon  the  English  vessels.  More  than  three  quarters  of  them 
were  merchantmen.  There  was  no  comparison  whatever  between  the  relative 
strength  of  the  fleets.  In  number  they  were  about  equal,  being  each  from  one 
hundred  and  thirty  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  strong;  but  the  Spaniards  had 
twice  the  tonnage  of  the  English,  four  times  the  artillery,  and  nearly  three 
times  the  number  of  men. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTIOlsr.  239 

As  the  twilight  deepened  the  moon  became  totally  obscured,  dark  cloud- 
masses  spread  over  the  heavens,  the  sea  grew  black,  distant  thunder  rolled,  and 
the  sob  of  an  approaching  tempest  became  distinctly  audible.  Such  indications 
of  a  westerly  gale  were  not  encouraging  to  those  cumbrous  vessels,  with  the 
treacherous  quicksands  of  Flanders  under  their  lee. 

At  an  hour  past  midnight  it  was  so  dark  that  it  was  ditficult  for  the  most 
practiced  eye  to  pierce  far  into  the  gloom.  But  a  faint  dip  of  oars  now  struck 
the  ears  of  the  Spaniards  as  they  watched  from  the  decks.  A  few  moments 
afterward  the  sea  became  suddenly  luminous,  and  six  flaming  vessels  appeared 
at  a  slight  distance,  bearing  steadily  down  upon  them  before  the  wind  and  tide. 

There  were  men  in  the  Armada  who  had  been  at  the  siege  of  Antwerp, 
only  a  few  years  before.  They  remembered  with  horror  the  devil-ships  of 
Gianibelli,  those  floating  volcanoes,  which  had  seemed  to  rend  earth  and  ocean, 
Avhose  explosion  had  laid  so  many  thousands  of  soldiers  dead  at  a  blow,  and 
which  had  shattered  the  bridge  and  floating  forts  of  Farnese  as  though  they 
had  been  toys  of  glass.  They  knew  too  that  the  famous  engineer  was  at  that 
moment  in  England. 

In  a  moment  one  of  those  terrible  panics  which  spread  with  such  centa- 
gious  rapidity  among  large  bodies  of  men  seized  upon  the  Spaniards.  There 
was  a  yell  throughout  the  fleet — "  The  fire-ships  of  Antwerp !  the  fire-ships 
of  Antwerp ! "  and  in  an  instant  every  cable  was  cut,  and  frantic  attempts 
were  made  by  each  galleon  and  galliass  to  escape  what  seemed  imminent 
destruction.  The  confusion  was  beyond  description.  Four  or  five  of  the 
largest  ships  became  entangled  with  each  other;  two  others  were  set  on 
fire  by  the  flaming  vessels,  and  were  consumed. 

So  long  as  night  and  darkness  lasted  the  confusion  and  uproar  continued. 
When  the  Monday  morning  dawned  several  of  the  Spanish  vessels  lay  disabled, 
while  the  rest  of  the  fleet  was  seen  at  a  distance  of  two  leagues  from  Calais, 
driving  toward  the  Flemish  coast.  The  threatened  galo  had  not  yet  begun  to 
blow,  but  there  were  fresh  squalls  from  the  "VV.  S.  W.,  which  to  such  awkward 
sailers  as  the  Spanish  vessels  were  difficult  to  contend  with.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  English,  fleet  was  all  astir  and  ready  to  pursue  the  Spaniards,  now 
rapidly  drifting  into  the  North  Sea 

The  invincible  Armada,  already  sorely  crippled,  was  standing  N.  N.  E., 
directly  before  a  fresh  topsail  breeze  from  the  S.  S.  "W.  The  English  came 
up  with  them  soon  after  nine  o'clock  a.m.,  off"  Gravelines,  and  found  them 
sailing  in  a  half-moon,  the  admiral  and  vice-admiral  in  the  center,  and  the 
flanks  protected  by  the  three  remaining  galliasses  and  by  the  great  galleons 
of  Portugal. 

The  battle  lasted  six  hours  long,  hot  and  furious.  Keeping  within  musket- 
range,  the  well-disciplined  English  marinei-s  poured  broadside  after  broadside 
against  the  towering  ships  of  the  Armada,  which  aflbrded  so  easy  a  mark; 
while  the  Spaniards,  on  their  part,  found  it  impossible,  while  wasting  incredible 
quantities  of  powder  and  shot,  to  inflict  any  severe  damage  on  their  enemies. 
Throughout  the  action  not  an  English  ship  was  destroyed,  not  a  hundred  men 
were  killed.  On  the  other  hand,  all  the  best  ships  of  the  Spaniards  were 
riddled  through  and  through,  and  with  masts  and  yards  shattered,  sails  and 
rigging  torn  to  shreds,  and  a  north-west  wind  still  drifting  them  toward  the 
fatal  sand-banks  of  Holland,  they  labored  heavily  in  a  chopping  sea,  firing 


240  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

wildly,  and  receiving  tremendous  punishment  at  the  hands  of  Howard,  Drake, 
Seymour,  Winter,  and  their  followers. 

Up  to  this  period  the  weather,  though  occasionally  threatening,  had  been 
moderate.  During  the  week  which  succeeded  the  eventful  night  oft'  Calais 
neither  the  Armada  nor  the  English  ships  had  been  much  impeded  in  their 
maneuvers  by  storms  of  heavy  seas.  But  on  the  following  Sunday  (14th  of 
August)  there  was  a  change.  The  wind  shifted  again  to  the  south-west,  and 
during  the  whole  of  that  day  and  the  Monday  blew  a  tremendous  gale. 
"'Twas  a  more  violent  storm,"  said  Howard,  "than  was  ever  seen  before  at 
this  time  of  the  year." 

Over  the  invincible  Armada,  last  seen  by  the  departing  English  midway 
between  the  coasts  of  Scotland  and  Denmark,  the  blackness  of  night  seemed 
suddenly  to  descend.  A  mystery  hung  for  a  long  time  over  their  fate.  Dam- 
aged, leaking,  without  pilots,  without  a  competent  commander,  the  great  fleet 
entered  that  furious  storm,  and  was  whirled  along  the  iron  crags  of  Norway, 
and  between  the  savage  rocks  of  Faroe  and  the  Hebrides.  In  those  regions 
of  tempest  the  insulted  North  wreaked  its  full  vengeance  on  the  insolent 
Spaniards.  Disaster  after  disaster  marked  their  perilous  track;  gale  after 
gale  swept  them  hither  and  thither,  tossing  them  on  sand-banks  or  shattering 
them  against  granite  cliffs.  The  coasts  of  Norway,  Scotland,  Ireland,  were 
strewn  with  the  wrecks  of  that  pompous  fleet  which  claimed  the  dominion 
of  the  seas;  with  the  bones  of  those  invincible  legions  which  were  to  have 
sacked  London  and  made  England  a  Spanish  viceroyalty.  The  invincible 
Armada  had  not  only  been  vanquished,  but  annihilated. 

XX.— THE  GOLDEN  CITY.     Mackay. 

Weary  and  sickening  of  the  dull  debate 

And  clang  of  politics ; — weary  of  hate, 

And  sorrow^  and  calamity^  and  crime 

Of  daily  history  told  us  in  our  time ; — 

Weary  of  wrong  that  reared  its  hydra  head, 

And  hiss'd  from  all  its  mouths;  dispirited 

With  rich  man's  apathy  to  poor  man's  hurt, 

And  poor  men's  ignorance  of  their  own  desert, 

And  for  a  moment  hopeless  of  mankind 

And  the  great  cause  nearest  to  my  mind — 

Progress — the  dream  of  poet  and  of  sage — 

I  leaned  back  in  my  chair,  and  dropp'd  the  page, 

Diurnal, — filled  with  all  the  misery. 

And  fell  asleep, — if  sleeping  it  could  be. 

When,  in  their  natural  sequence  in  the  brain. 

Thought  followed  thought,  more  palpable  and  plain 

Than  when  I  waked ;  when  words  took  music-voice, 

And  all  my  being  inly  did  rejoice. 

And  what  I  saw  I  sang  of  at  the  time 

With  ease  unparalleled  by  waking  rhyme. 

And  to  this  tune,  which,  many  a  day  since  then, 

A  haunting  music,  has  come  back  again. 


MANUAL  OP  ELOCUTION^  241 

Oh,  the  golden — city, 

Shining /rtr — away! 

"With  its  domes — and  steeples  tall, 

And  the  sutilight — over  all ; — 

With  the  waters  of  a  bay 

Eippling  gently  at  its  feet — 

Oh,  the  golden — city, — so  beautiful  to  seel— 

It  shall  open  wide  its  portals, 

And  I  '11  tell  you  if  it  be 

The  city  of  the  happy, — 

The  city  of  the/?-ee. 

Oh,  the  glorious  city, 

Shining  far  away! 

In  its  boundaries — every  man 

Makes  his  happiness — apian, 

That  he  studies  night — and  day, 

Till  he  thinks  it  not  alone, 

Like  his  property, — his  own — 

Oh  the  glorious  city, — so  beautiful  to  see  !— 

But  spreads  it  round  about  him ; 

Till  all  are  bless'd  as  he; 

His  mind — an  inward  sunshine, 

And  bright — eternally. 

Oh,  the  splendid  city, 

Gleaming  far  away! 

Every  man  by  love  possess'd 

Has  a,  priest  within  his  breast, 

And  whene'er  he  kneels  to  pray 

Never  breathes  a  thought  unkind — 

Against  mew  of  other  mind — 

Oh,  the  glorious  city, — so  beautiful  to  see !  — 

But  knows  that  God — eternal 

"Will  shower  all  blessings  free 

On  hearts  that  live  to  Iwe  Him, 

And  cling — to  charity. 

Oh,  the  gorgeous  city. 
Shining  far  away! — 
Neither  misery  nor  crime. 
Nor  the  wrongs  of  ancient  time, 
Nor  the  kingly  lust  of — sway 
Ever  come  within  its  wall 
To  degrade — or  to  inthrall — 
Oh,  the  glorious  city, — so  beautiful  to  see  I^ 
But  peace  and  love — and  knowledge, 
The  civilizing  Three, 
Still  prove  by  good  that  has  been 
The  better  that  may  be. 
16 


242  .MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION. 

Thus  dream'd  I,  to  this  rhyme,  or  something  near, 

But  far  more  copious, — 7nusical, — and  clear. 

And  when  I  wakened,  still  my  fancy  ran. 

'T  was  not  all  dream; — and  that  large  hopes  for  man 

Were  not  such  idle  visions  as  the  wise, 

In  days  like  ours,  should  heedlessly  despise. 

I  thought  that  love  might  be  religion  yet, 

Not/o?'m  alone,  but  soid  and  substance  met, — 

The  guide,  the  light,  the  glory  of  the  mind, 

Th'  electric  link  uniting  all  mankind. 

That  if  men  loved,  and  made  their  love — the  law^ 

All — else  would  follow ; — more  than  ever  saw 

Poet  or  prophet  in  the  utmost  light 

Of  heavenly  glory  opening  on  his  sight. 

But  dream — or  no  dream,  take  it  as  it  came. 

It  gave  ine — hope; — it  may  give  you,  the  same; 

And  as  bright  hopes  make  the  intention  strong, 

Take  heart  with  me,  and  muse  upon  my — song, 

XXI.— THE  WING.     MicHELET. 

Wings  !  wings  !  to  sweep 

O'er  mountain  high  and  valley  deep. 

Wings,  that  my  heart  may  rest 

In  the,  radiant  morning's  breast. 

Wings  to  hover  free 

O'er  the  dawn — impurpled  sea. 

Wings  !  'bove  life  to  soar, 

And  beyond  death  for  evermore. 

It  is  the  cry  of  the  whole  earth,  of  the  world,  of  all  life;  it  is  that  which 
every  species  of  animals  or  plants  utters  in  a  hundred  diverse  tongues — the 
voice  which  issues  from  the  very  rock  and  the  inorganic  creation  :  "  Wings ! 
we  seek  for  wings,  and  the  power  of  flight  and  motion !  "  Yea,  the  most  inert 
bodies  rush  greedily  into  the  chemical  transformations  which  will  make  them 
part  and  parcel  of  the  current  of  the  universal  life,  and  bestow  upon  them  the 
organs  of  movement  and  fermentation. 

Yea,  the  vegetables,  fettered  by  their  immovable  roots,  expand  their  secret 
loves  toward  a  winged  existence,  and  commend  themselves  to  the  winds,  the 
waters,  the  insects,  in  quest  of  a  life  beyond  their  narrow  limits — of  that  gift 
of  flight  which  nature  has  refused  to  them. 

We  contemplate  pityingly  those  rudimentary  animals,  the  unau  and  the  ai, 
sad  and  suff"ering  images  of  man,  which  can  not  advance  a  step  without  a 
groan — sloths  or  tardigrades.  The  names  by  which  we  identify  them  we  might 
justly  reserve  for  ourselves.  If  slowness  be  relative  to  the  desire  of  move- 
ment, to  the  constantly  futile  efl'ort  to  progress,  to  advance,  to  act,  the  true 
tardigrade  is  man.  His  faculty  of  dragging  himself  from  one  point  of  the 
earth  to  another,  the  ingenious  instruments  which  he  has  recently  invented  in 
aid  of  this  faculty — all  this  does  not  lessen  his  adhesion  to  the  earth ;  he  is  not 
the  less  firmly  chained  to  it  by  the  tyranny  of  gravitation.  I  see  upon  earth 
but  one  order  of  created  beings  which  enjoy  the  power  of  ignoring  or  beguiling, 
by  their  freedom  and  swiftness  of  motion^  this  universal  sadness  of  impotent 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  243 

aspiration.  I  mean  those  beings  which  belong  to  earth,  so  to  speak,  only 
by  the  tips  of  their  wings;  which  the  air  itself  cradles  and  supports,  most 
frequently  without  being  otherwise  connected  with  them  than  by  guiding 
them  at  their  need  and  their  caprice. 

A  life  of  ease,  yet  sublime!  With  what  a  glance  of  scorn  may  the  weakest 
bird  regard  the  strongest  and  swiftest  of  quadrupeds — a  tiger,  a  lion!  How  it 
may  smile  to  see  them  in  their  utter  powerlessness  bound,  fastened  to  the  earth 
which  they  terrify  with  vain  and  useless  roarings — with  the  nocturnal  wailings 
that  bear  witness  to  the  bondage  of  the  so-called  king  of  animals,  fettered,  as 
we  all  are,  in  that  inferior  existence  which  hunger  and  gravitation  equally 
prepare  for  us. 

Oh,  the  fatality  of  the  appetites!  the  fatality  of  motion  which  compels  us 
to  drag  our  unwilling  limbs  along  the  earth!  Implacable  heaviness  which 
binds  each  of  our  feet  to  the  dull,  rude  element  wherein  death  will  hereafter 
resolve  us,  and  says:  "(Sow  of  the  earth,  to  the  earth  thou  belongest!  A  mo- 
ment released  from  its  bosom,  thou  shalt  lie  there  henceforth  for  ages."  Do 
not  let  us  inveigh  against  nature.  It  is  assuredly  the  sign  that  we  inhabit  a 
world  still  in  its  first  youth — still  in  a  state  of  barbarism — a  world  of  essay 
and  apprenticeship,  in  the  grand  series  of  stars — one  of  the  elementary  stages 
of  the  sublime  imitation.  This  planet  is  the  world  of  a  child;  and  thou,  thcu 
art  a  child.  From  this  luioer  school  thou  shalt  be  emancipated  also.  Thy 
wings  shall  be  majestic  and  powerful.  Thou  shalt  win  and  deserve  while 
here,  by  the  sweat  of  thy  brow,  a  step  forward  in  liberty. 

Let  us  make  an  experiment.  Ask  of  the  bird  while  still  in  the  egg  what 
he  would  wish  to  be.  Give  him  the  option.  Wilt  thou  be  a  man,  and  share 
in  that  royalty  of  the  globe  which  men  have  won  by  art  and  toil?  No,  he 
will  immediately  reply.  Without  calculating  the  immense  exertion,  the  labor, 
the  sweat,  the  care,  the  life  of  slavery  by  which  we  purchase  sovereignty,  he 
will  have  but  one  word  to  say:  "A  king  myself  by  birth  of  space  and  light, 
why  should  I  abdicate  when  man,  in  his  loftiest  ambitions,  in  his  highest 
aspirations  after  happiness  and  freedom,  dreams  of  becoming  a  bird  and 
taking  unto  himself  wings?" 

It  is  in  his  sunniest  time,  his  first  and  richest  existence,  in  his  day-dreams 
of  youth,  that  man  has  sometimes  the  good  fortune  to  forget  that  he  is  a  man, 
a  slave  to  hard  fate,  and  chained  to  earth.  Behold  yonder  him  who  flies 
abroad,  who  hovers,  who  dominates  over  the  world,  who  swims  in  the  sun- 
beam!  He  enjoys  the  ineffable  felicity  of  embracing  at  a  glance  an  infinity 
of  things  which  yesterday  he  could  only  see  one  by  one.  Obscure  enigma 
of  detail  suddenly  made  luminous  to  him  who  perceives  its  unity!  To  see  the 
world  beneath  one's  self,  to  embrace  it,  to  love  it!  How  divine,  how  loftj'  a 
dream!  Do  not  wake  me,  I  pray  you,  never  wake  me!  But  what  is  this? 
Here  again  are  day,  uproar,  and  labor;  the  harsh  iron  hammer,  the  ear-piercing 
bell  with  its  voice  of  steel  dethrone  and  dash  me  headlong;  my  wings  are  rent. 
Dull  earth,  I  fall  to  thee !     Bruised  and  bent  I  return  to  the  plow. 

When  at  the  close  of  the  last  century  man  formed  the  daring  idea  of 
giving  himself  up  to  the  winds,  of  mounting  in  the  air  without  rudder  or 
oar  or  means  of  guidance,  he  proclaimed  aloud  that  at  length  he  had  secured 
his  pinions — had  eluded  nature  and  conquered  gravitation.  Cruel  and  tragical 
catastrophes  gave  the  lie  to  this  ambition.    He  studied  the  economy  of  the 


244  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

bird's  wing;  he  undertook  to  imitate  it.  Kudely  enough  he  counterfeited  its 
inimitable  mechanism.  We  saw  with  terror  from  a  column  of  a  hundred  feet 
high  a  poor  human  bird  armed  with  wings  dart  into  air,  wrestle  with  it,  and 
dash  headlong  into  atoms.  The  gloomy  and  fatal  machine  in  its  laborious 
complexity  was  a  sorry  imitation  of  that  admirable  arm  (far  superior  to  the 
human  arm),  that  system  of  muscles  which  co-operate  among  themselves  in 
so  vigorous  and  lively  a  movement.  Disjointed  and  relaxed,  the  human  wing 
lacked  especially  that  all-powerful  muscle  which  connects  the  shoulders  to  the 
chest,  and  communicates  its  impetus  to  the  thunderous  flight  of  the  falcon. 
The  instrument  acts  so  directly  on  the  mover,  the  oar  on  the  rower,  and  unites 
with  him  so  perfectly,  that  the  martinet,  the  frigate-bird,  sweeps  along  at  the 
rate  of  eighty  leagues  an  hour — five  or  six  times  swifter  than  our  most  rapid 
railway  trains,  outstripping  the  hurricane,  and  with  no  rival  but  the  lightning. 
But  even  if  our  poor  imitators  had  exactly  imitated  the  wing,  nothing  would 
have  been  accomplished.  They  then  had  copied  the  form,  but  not  the  internal 
structure.  They  thought  that  the  bird's  power  of  ascension  lay  in  its  flight 
alone,  forgetting  the  secret  auxiliary  which  nature  conceals  in  the  plumage 
and  bones.  The  mystery,  the  true  marvel,  lies  in  the  faculty  with  which  she 
endows  the  bird  of  rendering  itself  light  or  heavy  at  its  will,  of  admitting 
more  or  less  of  air  into  its  expressly  constructed  reservoirs.  "Would  it  grow 
light,  it  inflates  its  dimensions  while  diminishing  its  relative  weight.  By  this 
means  it  spontaneously  ascends  in  a  medium  heavier  than  itself.  To  descend 
or  drop  it  contracts  itself,  grows  thin  and  small,  cutting  through  the  air  which 
supported  and  raised  it  in  its  former  heavy  condition.  Here  lay  the  error,  the 
cause  of  man's  fatal  mistake.  He  assumed  that  the  bird  was  a  ship,  not  a  bal- 
loon. He  imitated  the  wing  only;  but  the  wing,  however  skillfully  imitated, 
if  not  conjoined  with  this  internal  force,  is  but  a  certain  means  of  destruction. 
But  this  facult}',  this  rapid  inhalation  or  expulsion  of  air,  of  swimming  with  a 
ballast  variable  at  pleasure,  whence  does  it  proceed?  From  a  unique,  unheard- 
of  power  of  respiration.  The  man  who  should  inhale  a  similar  quantity  of  air 
at  once  Avould  be  suffocated.  The  bird's  lung,  elastic  and  powerful,  quafis  it 
abundantly  into  his  bones,  into  his  aerial  cells.  Each  inspiration  is  renewed 
second  after  second  with  tremendous  rapidity.  The  blood,  ceaselessly  vivified 
with  fresh  air,  supplies  each  muscle  with  that  inexhaustible  energy  which  no 
other  being  possesses,  and  which  belongs  only  to  the  elements.  The  bird  does 
not  need  to  seek  the  air  that  he  may  be  reinvigorated  by  touching  it;  the  air 
seeks  and  flows  into  him.  It  incessantly  kindles  within  him  the  burning  fires 
of  life.  It  is  this  and  not  the  wing  which  is  so  marvelous.  Take  the  pinions 
of  the  condor,  and  foUoto  in  its  track  when  from  the  summit  of  the  Andes 
and  their  Siberian  glaciers  it  swoops  down  upon  the  glowing  shore  of  Peru, 
traversing  in  a  minute  all  the  temperatures  and  all  the  climates  of  the  globe, 
breathing  at  one  breath  the  frightful  mass  of  air — scorched,  frozen,  it  matters 
not.     Vou  would  reach  the  earth  stricken  as  by  lightning. 

The  smallest  bird  in  this  matter  shames  the  strongest  quadruped.  Place, 
says  Toussenel,  a  chained  lion  in  a  balloon  and  his  harsh  voice  will  be  lost  in 
space.  Far  more  powerful  in  voice  and  respiration  the  little  lark  mounts  up- 
ward, trilling  its  song,  and  makes  itself  heard  when  it  can  be  seen  no  longer. 
Its  light  and  joyous  strain,  uttered  without  fi^tigue  and  costing  nothing,  seems 
the  bliss  of  an  invisible  spirit  which  would  fain  console  the  earth. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  245 

Strength  makes  joy.  The  happiest  of  beings  is  the  bird,  because  it  feels 
itself  strong  beyond  the  limits  of  its  action,  because  cradled,  sustained  by  the 
breath  of  heaven,  it  floats,  it  rises  without  eftbrt  like — a  dream.  The  boundless 
strength,  the  exalted  faculty — obscure  among  inferior  beings,  in  the  bird  clear 
and  vital — of  deriving  at  will  its  vigor  from  the  maternal  source,  of  drinking 
life  in  at  full  flood,  is  a  divine  intoxication. 

The  tendency  of  every  human  being — a  tendency  not  arrogant,  not  im- 
pious— is  to  liken  itself  to  nature,  the  great  mother ;  to  fashion  itself  after  her 
image;  to  crave  a  share  of  the  unwearied  wings  with  which  Eternal  Love 
broods  over  the  world. 

Human  tradition  is  fixed  in  this  direction.  Man  does  not  wish  to  be  a 
man,  but  an  angel,  a  winged  deity.  The  winged  genii  of  Persia  suggests  the 
cherubims  of  Judea.  Greece  endows  her  Psyche  with  wings,  and  discovers 
the  true  name  of  the  soul — aspiration.  The  soul  has  preserved  her  pinions; 
has  passed  at  one  flight  through  the  shadowy  middle  age,  and  constantly 
increases  in  heavenly  longings.  More  spotless  and  more  glowing,  she  gives 
utterance  to  a  prayer  breathed  in  the  very  depths  of  the  prophetic  ardor :  "  Oh, 
that  I  were  a  bird ! " 

"Woman  never  doubts  but  her  offspring  will  become  an  angel. .  She  has 
seen  it  so  in  her  dreams. 

Dreams  or  realities?  "Winged  visions,  raptures  of  the  night  which  we 
shall  weep  so  bitterly  in  the  morning!  If  you  really  were.'  If  indeed  you 
lived!  If  we  had  lost  some  of  the  causes  of  our  regret!  If  from  stars  to 
stars,  reunited  and  launched  on  an  eternal  flight,  we  all  performed  in  com- 
panionship a  happy  pilgrimage  through  the  illimitable  goodness! 

At  times  one  is  apt  to  believe  it.  Something  whispers  us  that  these  dreams 
are  not  all  dreams,  but  glimpses  of  a  world  of  truth — momentary  flashes  re- 
vealing through  these  lower  clouds  certain  promises  to  be  hereafter  fulfilled — 
while  the  pretended  reality  it  is  that  should  be  stigmatized  as  a  foul  delusion. 

XXII.— THE  THUNDEE-STORM.     George  D.  Prentice. 

I  never  was  a  man  of  feeble  courage.  There  are  few  scenes  of  either  human 
or  elemental  strife  upon  which  I  have  not  looked  with  a  brow  of  daring.  I 
have  stood  in  front  of  the  battle  when  the  swords  were  gleaming  and  circling 
around  me  like  fiery  serpents  in  the  air.  I  have  seen  these  things  Avith  a 
swelling  soul  that  knew  not,  that  recked  not  of  danger. 

But  there  is  something  in  the  thunder's  voice  that  makes  me  tremble  like  a 
child.  I  have  tried  to  overcome  this  unmanly  weakness.  I  have  called  pride 
to  my  aid;  I  have  sought  for  moral  courage  in  the  lessons  of  philosophy;  but 
the  effort  availed  me  nothing.  At  the  first  low  moaning  of  the  distant  cloud 
my  heart  shrinks  and  dies  within  me. 

My  involuntary  dread  of  thunder  had  its  origin  in  an  incident  that  occurred 
when  I  was  a  boy  of  ten  years.  I  had  a  little  cousin — a  girl  of  the  same  age 
with  myself — who  had  been  a  constant  companion  of  my  youth.  Strange  that 
after  the  lapse  of  many  years  that  occurrence  should  be  so  familiar  to  me.  I 
can  see  the  bright  young  creature,  her  eyes  flashing  like  beautiful  gems,  her  free 
locks  streaming  as  in  joy  upon  the  rising  gale,  and  her  cheeks  glowing  like 
rubies  through  a  wreath  of  transparent  snow.    Her  voice  had  the  melody  and 


246  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

joyoLisness  of  a  bird's;  and  when  she  bounded  over  the  wooded  hill  or  fresh 
green  valley,  shouting  a  glad  answer  to  every  voice  of  nature,  and  clapping  her 
little  hands  in  the  ecstasy  of  young  existence,  she  looked  as  if  breaking  away, 
like  a  free  nightingale,  from  the  earth,  and  going  off  where  all  things  are 
beautiful  like  her. 

It  was  a  morning  in  the  middle  of  August.  The  little  girl  had  been  passing 
some  days  at  my  father's  house,  and  she  was  now  to  return  home.  Her  path 
lay  across  the  fields,  and  gladly  I  became  the  companion  of  her  walk.  I  never 
knew  a  summer  morning  more  beautiful  and  still.  Only  one  little  cloud  was 
visible,  and  that  seemed  as  pure  and  white  and  peaceful  as  if  it  had  been  the 
incense-smoke  of  some  burning  censer  of  the  skies.  The  leaves  hung  silent  in 
the  woods,  the  waters  in  the  bay  had  forgotten  their  undulations,  the  flowers 
were  bending  their  heads  as  if  dreaming  of  rainbow  and  dew,  and  the  whole 
atmosphere  was  of  such  a  soft  and  luxurious  sweetness  that  it  seemed  a  cloud 
of  roses  scattered  down  by  the  hands  of  Peri  from  the  far-off  garden  of 
Paradise.  The  green  earth  and  the  blue  sea  lay  around  in  their  boundlessness, 
and  the  peaceful  sky  bent  over  and  blessed  them. 

The  little  creature  at  my  side  was  in  a  delirium  of  happiness,  and  her  clear 
sweet  voice  came  ringing  upon  the  air  as  often  as  she  heard  the  tones  of  a 
favorite  bird  or  found  some  strange  and  lovely  flower  in  her  frolic  wanderings. 
The  unbroken  and  almost  supernatural  stillness  of  the  day  continued  until 
noon ;  then  for  the  first  time  the  indications  of  an  approaching  storm  became 
manifest.  On  the  summit  of  a  mountain,  at  the  distance  of  about  a  mile,  the 
folds  of  a  dark  cloud  became  suddenly  visible,  and  at  the  same  instant  a  hollow 
roar  came  down  upon  the  winds,  as  if  it  had  been  the  sound  of  waves  in  a 
rocky  cavern.  The  clouds  rolled  out  like  a  banner  unfolded  upon  the  air, 
but  still  the  atmosphere  was  as  calm,  the  leaves  as  motionless  as  before,  and 
there  was  not  even  a  quiver  among  the  sleeping  waters  to  tell  of  the  coming 
hurricane.  To  escape  the  tempest  was  impossible.  As  the  only  resort  we  fled 
to  an  oak  that  stood  at  the  foot  of  a  tall  and  rugged  precipice.  Here  we  stood 
and  gazed  almost  breathlessly  upon  the  clouds  marshaling  themselves  like 
bloody  giants  in  the  sky.  The  thunder  was  not  frequent,  but  every  burst  was 
so  fearful  that  the  young  creature  who  stood  by  me  shut  her  eyes  convul- 
sively, and  clung  with  desperate  strength  to  my  arms,  and  shrieked  as  if  her 
heart  would  break. 

A  few  minutes  and  the  storm  was  upon  us.  During  the  height  of  its  fury 
the  little  girl  lifted  her  finger  toward  the  precipice  that  towered  over  us.  I 
looked  and  saw  there  a  purple  light;  and  instantly  the  clouds  opened,  the  rocks 
tottered  to  their  foundations,  a  roar  like  the  groan  of  the  universe  filled  the 
air,  and  I  felt  myself  blinded  and  thrown  I  know  not  whither.  How  long  I 
remained  insensible  I  can  not  tell,  but  when  consciousness  returned  the  violence 
of  the  tempest  was  abating,  the  roar  of  the  winds  was  dying  in  the  tree-tops, 
and  the  deep  tones  of  the  thunder-clouds  came  in  faint  murnuirs  from  the 
eastern  hills. 

I  arose  and  looked  tremblingly  and  almost  deliriously  around.  She  was 
there,  the  dear  idol  of  my  infant  love,  stretched  out  upon  the  green  earth. 
After  a  moment  of  irresolution  I  went  up  a-nd  looked  upon  her.  The  handker- 
chief upon  her  neck  was  slightly  rent,  and  a  single  dark  spot  upon  hor  bosom 
told  where  the  pathway  of  death  had  been.     At  first  I  clasped  her  to  my  breast 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  247 

with  a  cry  of  agony,  and  then  laid  her  down  and  gazed  upon  her  face  with 
feelings  almost  of  calmness.  Her  bright  disheveled  hair  clustered  sweetly 
around  her  brow;  the  look  of  terror  had  faded  from  her  lips  and  infant  smiles 
were  pictured  there;  the  rose-tinge  upon  her  cheeks  was  as  lovely  as  in  life, 
and  as  I  pressed  them  upon  my  own  the  fountain  of  tears  was  opened,  and  I 
wept  as  if  my  heart  were  Avaters.  I  have  but  a  dim  recollection  of  what 
followed;  I  only  know  that  I  remained  weeping  and  motionless  till  the  coming 
twilight,  and  I  was  taken  tenderly  by  the  hand  and  led  away  where  I  saw  the 
countenances  of  parents  and  sisters. 

Many  years  have  gone  by  on  the  wings  of  light  and  shadow,  but  the  scenes 
I  have  portrayed  still  come  over  me  at  times  with  a  terrible  distinctness.  The 
oak  yet  stands  at  the  base  of  the  precipice,  but  its  limbs  are  black  and  dead, 
and  the  hollow  trunk,  looking  up  to  the  sky  as  if  "calling  to  the  clouds  for 
drink,"  is  an  emblem  of  rapid  and  noiseless  decay. 

A  year  ago  I  visited  the  spot,  and  the  thought  of  by-gone  years  came 
mournfully  back  to  me.  I  thought  of  the  little  innocent  being  who  fell  at  my 
side,  like  some  beautiful  tree  of  spring  rent  up  by  the  whirlwind  in  the  midst 
of  blossoming.  But  I  remembered — and  oh,  there  was  joy  in  the  memory — 
that  she  had  gone  where  the  lightnings  slumber  in  the  folds  of  the  rainbow- 
cloud,  and  where  the  sunlight  waters  are  broken  only  by  the  storm-breath  of 
Omnipotence. 

The  following  selections  from  Shakespeare  and  other  poets  are 
marked  for  emphasis  and  rhetorical  pauses. 

XXIII.— CAEDINAL  WOLSEY'S  SOLILOQUY.    Shakespea.ee. 

Wolsey.    Nay,  then,  farewell ! 
I  have  touched — the  highest  point — of  all  my  greatness: 
And, — (from  the  full  meridian — of  my  glory,) 
I  haste — {now)  to   nay  setting.     I — shall  fall — 
Like  a  bright  exhalation — in  the  evening, 
And  no  man — see  me — more  I 
Farewell,  a  long  farewell, — to  all — my  greatness  I 
This — is  the  state — of  man :  To-day — he  puts  forth — 
The  tender  leaves — of  hopes,  to-m.orrow — blossoms, 
And  bears  his  blushing  honors — thick  upon  him : 
The  thii^d  day — comes  a  frost,  a  killing  frost, 
And — when  he  thi7iks, — {good — easy  man,)  full  surely — 
His  greatness — is  a  ripening, — nips — his  root. 
And  then — he  falls,  as  /  do.     I  have  ventured, 
(Like  little — wanton  boys — th't  swim — on  bladders,) 
This  many  summers — in  a  sea — of  glory  ; 
But— /ar — beyond  my  depth:  my  MghAAovin  pride 
(At  length)  broke  under  me ;  and  now — has  left  me, 
{Weary, — and  old — with  service,)  to  the  mercy — 
Of  a  rttde  stream, — th't  must — {forever)  hide  me. 
Vain  pomp — and  glory — of  this  world,  I  hate  ye ; 
I  feel — my  heart — new  open'd.    Oh,  how — xoretched— 


248  MANUAL   OF  ELOCUTION, 

Is  that — poor  man — th't  hangs — on  princes' — -favors  I 
There  is — betwixt  that  smile — we  would  aspire  to, 
That  sweet  aspect — of  princes,  and  their  ruin, 
More  pangs — and  fears, — than  wars — ov  women — havej 
And — when  he — falls, — he  falls — like  Lucifer, 

Never — to  hope — again!  [Enter  Cromwell,  amazedly. 

Why,  how  now, — Cromwell  ? 

Cromwell.    I  have  no  power — to  speak,  sir. 

Wol.     What!  amaz'd — at  m j  misfortunes  ?  can  ihj  spirit — wonder — 
A  great  man — should  decline?     Nag,  an'  you — weep, 
I  am — fallen — indeed! 

Crojn.  How  does  your  grace  ? 

Wol.  Why,— well; 

Never — so  truly  happy, — my  good  Cromwell. 
I  know  myself — now:  and  I  feel — (within  me) — 
A  peace — above  all — earthly  dignities, 
A  still — and  quiet  conscience.     The  king  has  cured  me, 
I  humbly — thank  his  grace,  and — from  these  shoulders, 
(These  ruined  j^i Wars,)  out  of  pity,  taken 
A  load — would  sink — a  navy, — too  much  honor: 
Oh,  'tis  a  burden, — [Cromioell,)  'tis  a  burden — 
Too  heavy — for  a  man — th't  hopes — for  heaven! 

Croin.    I  am  glad  your  grace — has  made  that  right  use  of  it. 

Wol.    I  hope  I  have:  I  am  able — {now,) —  methinks, — 
(Out  of  a  fortitude — of  soul  I  feel,) 
To  endure  more  miseries, — and  greater— far, 
Than  my  i^eaA:-hearted  enemies — dare  ofier. 
What  news — abroad? 

Crom..  The  heaviest — and  the  worst — 

Is  your  displeasure — with  the  ki^ig. 

Wol.  God  bless  him ! 

Crom.    The  next  is — that  Sir  Thomas  More — is  chosen 
Lord  chancellor — in  your  place. 

Wol.  That's — soyneiohat — sudden; 

But — he's  a  learned  man.     May  he  continue — 
Long — in  his  highness'  favor, — and  do  justice — 
For  truth's  sake, — and  his  conscience;  th't  his  bones, 
(When  he  has  ricn  his  course,  and  sleeps — in  blessings,) 
May  have  a  tomb — of  orphans'  tears — ivept  on  them ! 
What — more  ? 

Crom,.  That  Cranmer — is  returned — with  welcome, 

Installed — lord  archbishop — of  Canterbury. 

Wol.    That's — news — indeed! 

Crom.  Last, — th't  the  lady  Anne, 

(Whom  the  king — hath — in  secrecy — long  married,) 
This  day — was  viewed — (in  open,)  as  his  queen, — 
Going  to  chapel;  and — the  voice  is — [now) — 
Only — about  her  coronation ! 

Wol.    There — was  the  weight — th't  pulled  me  down,     O  Cromwell! 


MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION.  249 

The  king — has  gone  beyond  me ; — all  my  glories — 

In  that  one — woman — I  have  lost — for  ever: 

No  sun — shall  ever — ushei-  forth — mine  honors, — 

Or  gild — {again) — the  noble  troops — th't  waited 

Upon  my  smiles.     Go !  get  thee— /rom  me,  Cromwell ; 

I — am  a  poor — -fallen  man, — unworthy — [now) 

To  be  thy  lord — and  master:  seek  the  king ; 

{That  sun, — I  ^jray,— may  never  set !)     I  have  told  him — 

What — and  how  true  thou  art :   he — will  advance  thee ; 

Some  little  memory — of  me — will  stir  him, 

(I  know — his  noble  nature,)  not  to  let 

Thy  hopeful  service— joemA — too.     Good  Cromwell,— 

Neglect  him  not ;   make  use — now, — and  provide 

For  thine  own — future  safety. 

Crom.  O  my  lord! 

Mustl — then — leave  j on"!   must  I  needs /ore^ro — 

So  good, — so  noble, — and  so  true  a  master  ? 

Bear  witness, — all — th't  have  not  hearts  of  iron, — 

"WMYiwhat  a  sorrow — Cromwell — leaves  his  lord! 
The — king — shall  have  my  service;  but  my  prayers 
For  ever  and  for  ever  shall  be  yours  I 

Wol.    Cromwell,  I  did  not  think — to  shed  a  tear — 
In  all — my  m,isenes  ;  but  thou — hast  forced  me — • 
(Out  of  thy  honest  truth)  to  play  the  woman. 
Let's  dry  our  eyes:  and  thus  far — hear  me — {^Cromwell:) 
And  when — I  am  forgotten, — (as  I  shall  be,) 
And  sleep — in  dull — cold  marble, — where  no  mention 
Of  me — more  must  be  heard  of,  say, — /  taught  thee; — 
Say — Wolsey, — (th't  once — trod — the  ways  of  glory, — 
And  sounded — all  the  depths — and  shoals  of  honor,) — 
Found  thee — a  way — (out  of  his  wreck) — to  rise  in : 
A  sure — and  safe  one, — though  thy  m,aster — missed  it. 
Mark — but  my  fall — and  that — that  ruined  me  1 
Cromwell,  I  charge  thee, — fling  away — ambition  : 
By  that  sin — fell — the  angels ;  how  can  man — then, — 
(The  image — of  his  Maker,)  hope — to  wiii  by't? 
Love  thyself — last;  cherish — those  hearts — th't  hate  thee: 
Corruption — wins  not — m<yre — than  honesty. 
Still — (in  thy  right  hand) — carry  gentle  peace, — 
To  silence — envious  tongues.     Be  just — and  fear  not. 
Let  all  the  ends — thou  aim^st  at — be  thy  country's, — 
Thy  God's, — and  truth's:  then — if — ihoxx.  falVst, — (O  Crom,weU/) 
Thou  fall'st — a  blessed  martyr  !    Serve  the  king ; 

And, [Prithee, — lead  me  in:) 

There, — take  an  inventory — of  all  I  have, — 

(To  the  last  penny  ;)  't  is  the  king's :  my  robe, — 

And  my  integrity — to  heaven, — is  all — 

I  dare  (now) —  call  my  own.     O  Cromwell, — (Cromwell  I) 

Had  I — but  served  my  God — with  half — the  zeal — 


250  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

I  served  my  h'mg, — he — would  not  (in  mine  age) — 
Have  left  me — [naked) — to  mine  enemies  I 

Crom.    Good  sir, — have  patience. 

lyoL  So — I  have.     Farewell — 

The  hopes — of  court!  my  hopes — (in  hea.ven)  do  dwell.         [^Exeunt. 

XXIV.— OTHELLO'S  APOLOGY.    Shakespeare. 

Duke.    Valiant  Othello,  we  must  straight  employ  you — 
Against  the  general  enemy  Ottoman. 

I  did  not  see  you;  welcome  gentle  signior:        [To  Brabantio. 
We  lack'd  your  counsel — and  your  help — to-night. 

Brabantio.    So — did/ — yours.     Good  your  ^race,  parcJon  me; 
Neither  my  place,  nor  aught — I  heard  of  business, — 
Hath  raised  me — from  my  bed;  nor — doth  the  general  care 
Take  hold  on  me ;  for  my  patiieular  grief — 
Is  of  so^oo(Z-gate — and  ci&cbearing  nature — 
Th't  it  engluts — and  swallows — other  sorrows, 
And  it  is  still — itself. 

Duke.  Why?  what 's  the  matter? 

Bra.    My  daughter!  O,  my  daughter! 

Senators.  Dead  ? 

Bra.  Ay — to  we; 

She  is  abused, — stoVn  from  me, — and  corrupted — 
By  spells — and  medicines — bought  of  mountebanks ; 
For  nature — so  preposterously  to  err. 
Being  not  deficient, — blind, — or  lame  of  sense, — 
Sans  witchcraft — could  not — 

Duke.     Whoever  he  be  th't  (in  i\\\9,foul  proceeding) 
Hath  thus  beguiled  your  daughter — of  herself, — 
And  you — of  her, — the  bloody  book  of  laxo — 
You  shall  yourself  read — in  the  bitter  letter. 
After  your  own  sense :  yea,  though  our  proper  son 
Stood  in  your  action. 

Bra.  Humbly — I  thank  your  grace. 

Here  is  the  man,  this  Moor;  whom  now, — (it  seems,) 
Your  special  mandate,  (for  the  state  affairs,) 
Hath  hither  brought. 

Duke  and  Sen.         We  are  very — sorry  for  it. 

Duke.     What — (in  your  own  part)  can  you  say  to  this?       [7b  Othello. 

Bra.    Nothing,  but  this — is  so. 

Othello.    Most  potent, — grave,  and  reverend  signiors, 
My  very  noble — and  approved — good  masters, — 
Th't  I  have  ta'en  away — this  old  man's  daughter — 
It  is  most  true;  true — I  have  married  her: 
The  very  head — and  front — of  my  offending — 
Hath  this — extent, — no  more.     RuAe  am  I — in  my  speech, 
And  little  bless' d — with  the  soft  phrase  of  peace ; 
For — since  these  arms  of  mine — had  seven  years'  pith, 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  251 

(Till  noio — some  nine  moons  wasted,)  they  have  used 

Their  dearest  action — in  the  tented ^eW; 

And  little — of  this  great  ivorld — can  I  speak — 

More — than  pertains  io  feats — of  broil — and  battle; 

And — [iherejore)  little — shall  I  grace  my  cause — 

In  speaking — for  myself.     Yet,  (by  your  gracious ^a^ience,) 

I  will  a  round — unvarnisKd  tale  deliver — 

Of  my  whole  course  of  love ;  what  drugs, — what  charms, 

"What  conjuration, — and  what  mighty  magic, 

(For  such  proceeding — I  am  charged  withal,) 

I  won — his  daughter  with. 

Bra.  A  maiden — never  bold; 

Of  spirit — so  still — and  quiet — th't  her  motion 
Blush'd  at  herself;  and  she, — (in  spite  of  nature, 
Of  gears, — of  countrti, — credit, — every  thing,) — 
To  fall  in  love — with  what  she/ea?-'(^ — to  look  on  I 
It  is  &  judgment — mahn'd — and  most  imperfect 
Th't  will  confess — perfection — so — could  err — 
Against  all  rules  of  nature ;  and  must  be  driven — 
To  find  ovit  pi-actices — of  cunning  hell. 
Why  this  should  be.     I  therefore — vouch  again 
Th't  with  some  mixtures — [powerful — o'er  the  blood,) 
Or  with  some  dram — conjured — to  this  effect. 
He  wrought  upon  her. 

Duke.  To  vouch  this — is  no  proof. 

Without  more  wider — and  more  overt  test — 
Than  these — thin  habits,  and  poor  likelihoods 
Of  modern  seeming, — do  prefer  against  him. 

Sen.  But, — Othello, — speak : — 

Did  you, — (by  indirect — and/orced  courses,) 
Subdue — and  poison — this  young  maid's  affections  ? 
Or — came  it — by  request,  and  such /air  question — 
As  soul — to  soul — affordeth? 

0th.  I  do  beseech  you — 

Send  for  the  lady — to  the  Sagittary, — 
And  let  her — speak  of  me — before  her  father  : 
If  you  do  find  me/owi — in  her  report, 
The  trust,  the  office — I  do  hold  of  you 
Not  onlj'  take  away, — hut  let  your  sentence — 
Even  fall  upon  my  life. 

Duke.  Fetch  Desdemona  hither ! 

0th.    Ancient, — conduct  them ;  you — best  know  the  place, 

[Exeunt  lago,  etc. 
And — till  she  come,  as  truly — as  to  heaven — 
I  do  confess — the  vices — of  my  blood, — 
So  justly — to  your  grave  ears — I  '11  present — 
How  I  did  thrive — in  this  fair  lady's  love, 
And  she — in  mine. 

Duke.  Say  it,— Othello. 


252  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Oih.    Her  father — loved  me;  oft  invited  me  \ 
Still — questioned  me — the  story — of  my  life, 
From  year — to  year ; — the  battles, — sieges, — furtuneSf^ 
Th't  I  have  passe?. 

I  ran  it  through, — even — from  my  boyish  days, — 
To  the  very  moment — th't  he  bade  me  tell  it. 
Wherein — I  spake  of  most  disastrous  chances; — 
Of  moving  accidents — hy  flood — and  field; 
Of  AatV-hreadth  'scapes — i'  the  imminent  deadly  breach; 
Of  being  taken — by  the  insolent /oe — 
And  sold — to  slavery ; — of  my  redemption  thence, 
And  portance.     In  my  traveler's  history, 
(  Wherein — of  anires  vast — and  deserts  idle, — 
Hough  quarries, — rocks, — and  hills — whose  heads — touch  heaven^ 
It  was  my  hint  to  speak,) — stich — was  my  process ; 
And  of  the  Cannibals — that  each  other  eat. 
The  Anthropophagi, — and  men — whose  heads — 
Do  grow — beneath  their  shoulders.     These  things  to  hear — 
Would  Desdemona — seriously — incline  : 
But  still — the  house  affairs — would  draio  her  thence ; 
Which — ever — as  she  could  with  haste — dispatch — 
She'd  come  again, — and — (with  &  greedy  ear) 
Devour  up  my  discourse:  which — I — [observing,) 
Took — once — &  pliant  hour;  and  found  gond  means — 
To  draw  from  her — &  prayer — (of  earnest  heart) — 
That  I  would  all  my  pilgrimage — dilate. 
Whereof — by  parcels — she  had  something  heard, 
But  not  intent ively :  I  did  consent. 
And  often — did  beguile  her — of  her  tears, 
When  I  did  speak — of  soine  distressful  stroke — 
That  my  youth  suffer'd.     My  story — being  done, 
She  gave  me — for  my  pains — a  world  of  sighs : 
She  swore, — In  faith,  'twas  strange,  'twas  passing  strarige; 
'T  was  pitiful, — 't  was  wondrous — pitiful  : 
She  wish'd — she  had  not  heard  it;  yet — she  wish'd — 
Th't  Heaven — had  ^nade  her — such  a  man  :  she  thank' d  me; 
And  bade  me, — if  I  had  a  friend — that  loved  her, 
I  should  but  teach  him — how  to  tell  my  story — 
And  that — would  woo  her.     Upon  this  hint — I  spake: 
She — loved  me — for  the  dangers  I  had  pass'd; 
And  I — loved  her — th't  she  did  pity  them. 
Tins — only — is  the  witchcraft — I  have  used. 
Here — comes  the  lady, — let  her — witness  it. 

\Enter  Desdemona,  lago,  and  attendants, 

Duke.    I  think — this  tale — would  win  my  daughter  too. 
Good  Brabantio, — 

Take  up — this  mangled  matter — at  the  best: 
Men — do  their  broken  weapons — rather  use — 
Than  their  bare  hands. 


MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION.  253 

Bra.    I  pray  you — hear  her  speak ; 
If  she  confess — that  she — was  half  the  wooer, 
Destiniction — on  my  head, — if  my  bad  blame 
Light  on  the  m,anl    Come  hither,  (gentle  mistress:) 
Do  you  perceive  (in  all — this  noble  company) 
"Where  most — you  owe  obedience  ? 

Des.  My  noble  father, 

I  do  perceive —  here — a  divided  duty : 
To  you — I  am  bound — for  life, — and  education; 
My  life — and  education — both  do  learn  me — 
How — to  respect  you;  you — are  the  lord — of  duty ; — 
/  am — [hitherto) — your  daughter  :   But — here 's — my  husband; 
And  so  much  duty — as  my  mothei — show'd 
To  you, — (preferring  you — before  her  father,) 
So  much — I  challenge — that  / — may  profess 
Due  to  the  Moor,  my  lord. 

Bra.  God — be  with  you  ! — I  have  done. 

Please  it — your  grace, — on — to  the  state  affairs : 
I  had  rather — to  adopt  a  child — than  get  it. — 
Come  hither,  Moor  : 

I  here — do  give  thee  that — (with  all  my  heart) 
"Which, — (but  thou  hast — already,)  with  all  my  heart — 
I  would  keep  from  thee.     For  your  sake, — (jewel,) — 
I  am  glad — at  soul — I  have  no  other  child ; 
For  thy  escape — would  teach  me  tyranny. 
To  hang  clogs  on  them.     I  have  done, — my  lord. 

Duke.    Let  we  speak — like  yourself,  and  lay  a  sentence^ 
Which,  (as  a  grise,  or  step,) — may  help  these  lovers. 
"When  remedies — are  past, — the  griefs — are  ended, 
By  seeing  the  worst, — which  late — on  hopes — depended. 
To  mourn  a  mischief — th't  is  past — and  gone 
Is  the  next  way — to  draw  new  mischief  on. 
"What  can  not  be  preserved — when  fortune  takes, — 
Patience — her  injury — a  mockery — makes. 
The  robVd — ;that  smiles  steals  something — from  the  thief; 
He — robs  himself — th't  spends  a  bootless  grief. 

XXV.— CLAKENCE'S  DKEAM.     Shakespkabe. 

Brakenbury.    "Why  looks  your  grace — so  heavily — to-day  ? 

Clarence,    Oh !  I  have  passed — a  miserable  night, 
So  full — of  ugly  sights, — of  ghastly  dreams, 
That, — (as  I  am  a  Christian — faithful  man,) 
I  would  not  spend — another  such  a  night. 
Though  'twere  to  buy  a  xoorld — of  happy  days; — 
So  full — of  dismal  terror — was  the  time ! 

Brak.    What  was  your  dream,  my  ^or-c??     I  pray  you  ^eZZ  me. 

Clar.    Methought — th't  I  had  broken  from  the  Tower, 
And  was  embark! d — to  cross  to  Burgundy; 


254  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

And  (in  my  company)  my  brother — Gloster, — 

Who  (from  my  cabin)  tempted  me  to  walk 

Upon  the  hatches:  thence  we  looked  toward  England, 

And  cited  up — a  thousaiid — fearful  times, 

(During  the  wars  of  York — and  Lancaster,) 

Th't  had  befallen  us.     As  we  pass'd  along — 

Upon  the  giddy  footing — of  the  hatches — 

Methought — th't  Oloster — stumbled;  and,  (in  falling,) 

Struck  me, — (th't  sought  to  stay  him,) — overhoaxdi, 

Into  the  tumbling  billows — of  the  main. 

0  Heaven !     Methought — what  pain  it  is — to  drown  I 
What  dreadful  noise  of  waters — in  my  ears! 
What  sights — of  ugly  death — within  my  eyes ! 

1  thought — I  saw  a  thousand  fearful  ivrecks  ; 
Ten  thousand  m.en,  th't  fishes — gnaw'd  upon; 
Wedges  of  gold, — great  anchors, — heaps  of  pearl, — 
Inestimable  stones, — unvalued  jewels, 

All — scattered — in  the  bottom — of  the  sea! 

Some — lay  in  dead  men's  skulls;  and,  (in  those  holes — 

Where  eyes — once  did  inhabit,)  there — were  crept, — 

(As  't  were,  in  scorn  of  eyes,)  reflecting  gems, — 

Th't  woo'd  the  slimy  bottom — of  the  deep, — 

And  mock'd — the  dead  bones — that  lay  scatter' d  by. 

Brak.    Had  you  such  leisure, — (in  the  time  of  death,) 
To  gaze — upon  the  secrets — of  the  deep  ? 

Clar.    Methought  I  had ;  and  often — did  I  strive 
To  yield  the  ghost :  but  still — the  envious  flood — 
Kept  in  my  soul, — and  would  not — let  it  forth — 
To  seek  the  empty, — vast, — and  wandering  air; 
But  smothered  it — within  my  panting  bidk. 
Which  almost  burst — to  belch  it — in  the  sea. 

Brak.    Awak'd  you  not — with  this  sore  agony? 

Clar.    Oh, — no!  my  dream — was  lengthened — after  life; 
Oh !  then — began  the  tempest — to  my  soul ! 
Who  passed — (methought) — the  melancholy  flood, — 
With  that  grim  ferrym.an — (which  poets  write  of,) — 
Unto  the  kingdom — of  perpetual  night! 
The  first — th't  there — did  greet  my  stranger  soul — 
Was  my  great  /a^Aer-in-law, — (renowned  Warwick,) 
Who  cried  aloud, — 'What  scourge — for  perjury — 
Can  this  dark  monarchy — aflTord  false  Clarence  9 ' 
And  so — he — vanished.     Then — came — (wandering  by) — 
A  shadow — like  an  aiigel, — with  bright  hair — 
Dabbled  in  blood: — and  he — squeaked  out — aloud, — 
^Clarence — is  come!  false, — fleeting, — perjured  Clarence,^ 
Th't  stabbed  me — in  the  field  of  Tewksbury ; 
Seize  on  him,  furies! — take  him — to  your  torments!' 
With  that — (methought) — a  legion — of  foul  fiends — 
Environed  me  about, — and  howled — (in  min-e  ears) — 


MANUAL   OF  ELOCUTION.  255 

Such  hideoics  cries, — th't,  (with  the  very  noise,) 
I — (trembling) — waked, — and — (for  a  season — after) 
I  couhl  not  believe — but  th't  I  was  in  hell  I 
Such  terrible  impression — made  my  dream. 

Brak.    No  marvel, — (my  lord,)  th't  it  affrighted  you: 
I  promise  you — / — am  afraid — to  hear  you  tell  it. 

Clar.    O  {Brakenbury !)  I  have  done — those  things — 
(Which  now — give  evidence — against  iny  soul,) 
For  Edward's  sake ;  and  see  how  he  requites  me ! 

0  God!  if  my  deep  prayers — can  not  appease  thee, 
But — thou  wilt  be  avenged — on  my  misdeeds, 

Yet — execute — thy  wrath — on  me  alone : 

Oh !  spare — my  guiltless  wife, — and  my  poor  children  I 

1  prithee, — (^Brakenbury,)  stay — by  me; 

My  soul — is  heavy, — and  I  fain — would  sleep. 

Brak.    1  vnll, — (my  lord;)   God — ^^rire  your  grace — good  res^. 
Sorrow — breaks  seasons — and  reposing  hours, — 
Makes  the  night — morning — and  the  «oo?itide — night. 
Princes — have  but  their  titles — for  their  glories, — 
An  outward — honor — for  an  inward — toil. 
And — (for  unfelt — imagination) — 
They  ofte7i — feel  a  world — of  restless  cares  I 
So  th't  between  their  titles — and  low  natne 
There 's  nothing — differs — but  the  outioard — fame  I 


XXYI.— EOMEO  AND  JULIET.    Shakespeare. 

Borneo.    He — -jests — at  scars,  th't  never  felt  a  wound. 

\_Jidiet  appears  at  a  window. 
But — soft !  what  light — through  yonder  loindow  breaks  ? 
It  is  the  east,  and  Juliet — is  the  sun  ! 
Arise, — (fair  sun,)  and  kill — the  envious  moon, 
"Who  is  already — sick — and  pale — with  grief. 
That  thou, — (her  maid,)  art  far  more  fair — than  she: 
Be  not — her  maid, — since  she — is  envious ; 
Her  vestal  liverj'- — is  but  sick — and  green, 
And  none  but  fools  do  wear  it ;  cast  it  off. 
It  is  my  lady!     Oh,  it  is  my  love! 
Oh!  th't  she  knew — she  were! 
She  speaks,  yet  she  says  nothiiig :  what  of  that  ? 
Her  eye — discourses :  I  Avill  cmsiver  it. 
I  am  too  bold, — 't  is  not  to  »ue  she  speaks  : 
Two — of  the  fairest  stars  —in  all  the  heaven, 
(Having  some  business,)  do  entreat  her  eyes — 
To  twi7ikle — in  their  spheres — till  they  return. 
What — if  her  eyes — were  there, — they — in  her  head? 
The  brightness — of  her  cheek — would  shame  those  stars. 
As  daylight — doth  a  lamp>;  her  eye  iu  heaven — 


256  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTIOX. 

Would — (through  the  airy  region)  stream  so  bright, 
Th't  birds  would  sing,  and  think — it  were  not  night. 
See,  how  she  leans  her  cheek — upon  her  hand  ! 
Oh !  th't  / — were  a  glove — upon  that  hand, 
Th't  I  might  touch — that  cheek  ! 

Juliet    [sighing.']    '  Ah!  me  I 

Rom.  She  speaks  I 

Oh !  speak  again, — bright  angel !  for  thou — art 
As  glorious  to  this  night, — (being  o'er  my  head,) 
As  a  winged  messenger — of  heaven — 
Unto  the  wAi^e-upturned,  wondring  eyes — 
Of  mortals — th't  fall  back — to  gaze  on  him— 
"When  he  bestrides — the  lazy-Tp&cmg  clouds, 
And  sails — upon  the  bosom — of  the  air  I 

Jul.    O  Romeo,  Roineo !  wherefore — art  thou — Rom,eo  ? 
Deny  thy  father — and  refuse  thy  name  : 
Or, — (if  thou  wilt  not,)  be  but  sworn — 7ny  love, — 
And  I  'II  no  longer — be  a  Capulet. 

Rom.    [aside.]     Shall  I  hear  more, — or  shall  I  speak  at  this  ? 

Jul.    'T  is  but  thy  name — th't  is  my  enemy ; — 
Thou  art  thyself, — though — not  a  Montague. 
"What's  Montague?  it  is — nor  hand, — nor  foot, — 
Nor  arms, — nor  face, — nor  any  other  part — 
Belonging — to  a  m.an.     Oh,  be  some  other  name ! 
What 's — in  a  name?  that — which  we  call — a  rose 
By  any  other  name — would  smell  as  sweet: 
So — Romeo  would, — (were  he  not  Rotneo — calVd,) 
Retain — that  dear  perfection — which  he  owes, 
Without — that  title.     Romeo,  doff  thy  name, 
And — for  that  name, — (which  is  no  part  of  thee,y 
Take  all  myself. 

Rom.  I  take  thee — at  thy  word: 

Call  me — but  love, — and  I'll  be  new  baptized; 
Henceforth — I  never  will  be  Romeo. 

Jul.    What  man — art  thou — th't,  [thus — bescreen'd  by  night,) 
So  stumblest — on  my  counsel  ? 

Rom..  By  a  name — 

I  know  not — how — to  tell  thee — who  I  am : 
My  name, — (dear  saint,)  is  hateful — to  myself, 
Because — it  is  an  enem,y — to  thee; 
Had  I — it  written — I  would  tear  the  word. 

Jul.    3Iy  ears — have  not  yet — drunk  a  hundred  words — 
Of  thy  tongues  utterance, — yet — I  know — the  sound: 
Art  thou — not  Romeo,  and  a  Montague  ? 

Rom.    Neither, — (fair  maid,)  if  either — thee  dislike. 

Jul.    How — camest  thou  hither,  tell  me  ?  and  wherefore  ? 
The  orchard  walls — are  high,  and  hard — to  climb  ; 
And  the  place — death, — [considering — who  thou  art,) 
If  any  of  my  kinsmen— find  thee  here. 


MANUAL  OP^   ELOCUTION.  257 

Rom.    With  to»e's  light  wings — did  I  o'er-perch  these  walls; 
For  stony  limits — can  not  hold  love  out: 
And  what  love — can  do — t/utt — dares  love — attempt; 
Therefore — thy  kinsmen — are  no  stop — to  me. 

Jul.    If  they  do  see  thee, — they  will  murder  thee! 

Horn.    Alack!  there  lies  jnoi'e  peril — in  thine  eye — 
Than  tvjenty — of  their  swords ;   look  thou — but  sweet, — 
And  / — aui  liroo^ — against  Hicir  enmity. 

Jul.    I  would  not — (for  the  world)  they  saw  thee  here. 

Rom,.    I  have  nights  cloak — to  hide  me — from  their  eyes; 
And, — but  thou — love — me, — let  them  find  me  here : 
My  life — were  better  ended — by  their  hate — 
Than  death — prorogued — wanting — of  thy  love. 

Jid.    By  whose  direction — found'st  thou  out  this  place? 

Rom.    By  love, — who  first  did  inompt  me — to  inquire; 
He — lent  7ne — counsel, — and  / — lent  him — eyes. 
I — am  no  pilot;  yet — wert  thou — as  far 
As  that  vast  shore — wasKd — with  the  farthest  sea, — 
I  would  adventure — for  such  merchandise. 

Jul.    Thou  knoufst — the  mask  of  night — is  on  my  fa/ie^ 
Else — would  a  maiden  blush — bepaint  my  cheek — 
For  that — which  thou  hast  heard  me  speak — to-night. 
Fain — would  I  dwell  on  form, — fain, — fain  deny — 
What  I  have  spoke.     But — farewell — compliment! 
Dost  thou — love  me  ?     I  know — thou  wilt  say, — ^Aye^ 
And  I  will  take  thy  word;  yet — if  thou  swear' st, — 
Thou  may'st — prove  false; — at  lovers^  perjuries, 
(They  say,)  Jove — laughs.     O  gentle  Romeo! 
If  thou  dost  love, — pronounce  it — faithfully : 
Or — if  thou  think' st — I  am  too  quickly  won, — 
I  '11  frown,  and  be  perverse, — and  say  thee — nay, — 
So — thou  wilt  woo;  but — else — not  for  the  world. 
In  truth, — fair  Montague, — I  am — too  fond, 
And  th<'refore — thou  may'st  think — my  'havior  light: 
But  trust  me, — (gentleman,) — I'll  prove  more  true — 
Than  those — th't  have  more  cunning — to  be  strange. 
I — should  have  been  more  strange, — I  must  confess. 
But — th't  thou  overheard  st,  (ere  I  was  ^ware,) 
My  trite  love's  passion:  therefore,  pardon  me; 
And  not  impute  this  yieldi)ig — to  light  love, 
Which  the  dark  night — hath  so  discover'd. 

Rom.    Lady, — by  yonder  blessed  moon — I  swear, 
Th't  tips — (with  silver) — all  these  fruit-tree  tops 

Jul.    Oh,  sioear  not — by  the  moon, — the  inconstant  moon, 
Th't  monthly — changes — in  her  circled  oi'b, 
Lest — th't  thy  love — prove — (likewise) — variable. 

Rom.    What  sJmll  I — sivear  by  ? 

Jtd.  Do  not  swear, — utall; 

Or, — (if  thou  wilt.)  swear — by  thy  gracious  self, 

17 


258  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

(Which  is  the  god — of  my  idolatry,) 
And  I'll  believe  thee. 

Rom.  If  my  heart's — dear  love 

Jul.    Well, — rfo  not  swear:   although  I  j'o?/ — \n  thee, 
I  have  no  joy — of  this  contract^ — io-night; 
It  is  too  rash, — too  unadvised, — too  sudden ; 
Too — like  the  lightning,  which  doth  cease — to  be 
Ere  one  can  say — 'It  lightens  /'     Sweet, — good  night  I 
This  bud  of  love, — (by  sum^ner's  ripening  breath,) — 
May  prove  a  beauteous  flower — when  next  we  meet. 
Good  night,  good  night!  as  sweet  repose — and  rest 
Come  to  thy  heart — as  that — within  my  breast ! 

Horn,.    Oh!  wilt  thou — leave  me — so — unsatisfied? 

Jid.    What  satisfaction — canst  thou  have  to-nigJd  9 

Rom.    The  exchange — of  thy  love's  faithful  vow — for  mine. 

Jul.    I  gave  thee — mine — before  thou  didst  request  it : 
And  yet  I  would — it  were — to  give  again. 

Rom.    Wouldst  thou — withdraw  it  ?  for  what  purpose, — love  ? 

Jul.    But, — to  be  frank, — to  give  it  thee — again. 
And  yet — I  wish — but  for  the  thing — I  have  : 
My  bounty — is  as  boundless — as  the  sea; 
My  love — as  deep ;  the  more — I  give  to  thee, 

The  more—\  have  ;  for  both — are  infinite.  \_Nurse  calls  within. 

I  hear  some  noise — within:  dear  love, — adieu! 
Anon, — good  nurse  ! — Sweet  Montague, — be  trufi. 
Stay — but  a  little, — I  will  co7ne  again,  \_Exit. 

Rom.  O  blessed, — blessed  night!  I  am  afeard, 
(Being  in  night,) — all  this — is  but  a  dream, 
Too — -fiatterijtg-svfeet — to  be  substantial.  \_Re-enter  Juliet,  above. 

Jul.    Three  words, — dear  Romeo, — and  good  night — itideed. 
If — th't  thy  bent  of  love — be  honorable, 
Thy  purpose — marriage, — send  me  word — to-morroio, 
By  on<^ — th't  I'll  procure — to — co77ie  to  thee, — 
Where — and  ivhat  time — thou  wilt  perform  the  rite; 
And  all  my  fortunes — at  thy  foot — I'll  lay, — 
And  follow  thee, — (my  lord,)  throughout  the  world. 

Nurse    [^within.']     Madam ! 

Jid.    \  come, — anon!     But — \i  \\\o\x  meari st  tvo\,  well, 
I  do  beseech  thee 

Nurse    [ivithin.']    Madam ! 

Jul.  By-and-6y — I  come: — 

To  cease  thy  strife, — and  leave  me — to  my  grief : 
To-m-orroro — will  I  send. 

Rom.  So — thrive  m,y  said 

Jul.    A  thousand  times — good — night !  \_Exit. 

Rom.    A  thousand  times — the  worse  to  want  thy  light. 
Love — goes  toivard  love — as  s^Aoo^boys — from  their  books; 
But  love— from  love — toward  school  with  heavy  looks.         [Retiring. 
[Re-enter  Juliet,  above. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  269 

Jul.    Hist !  Romeo,  hist !     Oh,  for  a  falconer  s  voice — 
To  lure — this  tassel-gcniXa — hack — again  ! 
Bondage — is  hoarse, — and  may  not — speak  aloud; 
Else — would  I  tear  the  cave — where  Eclio  lies, — 
And  make  her  airy  tongue — more  hoarse — than  mine 
With  repetition — of  my  Romeo. 

Rom.  It  is — my  soul — th't  calls  upon  my  name: 
How  sz^wer-sweet — sound  lovers'  tongues — by  nighty 
Like  softest  music — to  attending  ears  ! 

Jul.    Romeo ! 

Rom.  My  sweet  I 

Jul.  At  what  o'clock — {to-morrow) 

Shall  I  send  to  thee  ? 

Rom,.  At  the  hour — of  nine. 

Jul.  I  will  not  fail:  'tis  twenty  years — till  then! 
I  have  forgot — why — I  did  call  thee  back. 

Rom,.    Let  me  stand  here — till  thou  retnembcr  it. 

Jul.    I  shall  forget, — to  have  thee  still  stand  there, 
Remembering — how  I  love  thy  company. 

Rom.    And  I  '11  still  stay — to  have  thee — still — forget^ 
Forgetting  any  other  home — but  this. 

Jul.    'Tis  almost  morning;  I  would  have  'Ca&^  gone: 
And  yd — no  furthei — than  a  wantons  bird; 
Who  lets  it  hop — a  little — from  her  hand, 
(Like  a  poor  jjrisoner — in  his  twisted  gyves,) 
And — (with  a  silk  thread)  plucks  it  back  again, 
So  fovin^r-jealous— of  his  liberty. 

Rom.    I  viould — I — were  thy  bird. 

Jul.  Sweet, — so — would  /. 

Yet — I  should  kill  thee — with  much  cherishing. 
Good — night,  good  flight !  parting — -is  such  sweet  sorrow, — 
Th't  I  shall  say — good — night,  till  it  be  morroxo.  [Exit. 

Rom.    Sleep — dwell — upon  thine  eyes, — peace — in  thy  breast  I 
Would — / — were  sleep — and  peace — so — sweet — to  rest  I 
Hence — ivill  I — to  my  ghostly  father's  cell, 
His  help — to  crave — and  my  dear  hap — to  tell.  \_E.xit. 

XXVII.— HAMLET  AND  HIS  MOTHEE.    Shakespeare. 

Hamlet.    Now, — mother, — what 's  the  matter  ? 

Queen.  Hamlet, — thou  hast  thy  father — much  offended. 

Ham.    Mother, — yoti — have  w?/  father — m,2ich  offended. 

Queen.  Come, — come!  you  ansioer — with  an  idle  tongue. 

Ham.    Go, — go ! — you — question — with  a  wicked  tongue. 

Queen.  Why,  how  noxv, — Hamlet? 

Ham.  What's  the  matter — now  ? 

Queen.  Have  you  forgot  me  ? 

Ham.  No, — by  the  rood  !  not  so : 

You — are  the  queen;  your  hiisbands — brother's  wife; 
And,  woidd — it  were  7iot  so ! — you — are  my  mother. 


260  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

Clueen.    Nay, — then, — I  '11  set  those  to  you  that  can  speak. 

Ham.    Come, — come, — and  sit  you  down;  you  shall  not  budge; 
You  go  not — till  I  set  you  up  a  glass — 
Where  you  may  see — the  inmost — jyart  of  you. 

Queen.    What — wilt  thou  do  ? — thou  wilt  not  ynurder  me? 

Ham.    Leave  wringing  of  your  hands :     Peace,  sit  you  down, 
And  let  me — wring — \-our  hcaiH :  for  so — I  shall, 
If  it  he  7nade — of  penetrable  stuif; 
If  dam-ned  czistom — have  not  braz'd  it  so 
Th't  it  is  jiroof — and  bulwark — against  sense. 

Queen.    What — have  I  done, — th't  thou  darest — wag  thy  tongue 
In  noise — so  rude  against  me  ? 

Ham.  Such  an  act — 

Th't  blurs  the  ^race — and  blush — of  modesty; 
Calls  virtue — hypocrite;  takes  off  the  rose — 
From  the  fair  forehead — of  an  innocent  love — 
Apd  sets  a  blister — there ;   makes  Tnarriage-vows — 
As  false — as  dicers'  oaths :   Oh  !  such  a  deed — 
As — from  the  body — of  contraction — plucks 
The  very  soul;  and  sweet  religion — makes 
A  rhapsody — of  words.     Heaven's  face — doth  glow; 
Yea, — this  solidity — and  compound  mass, — ■ 
(With  tristful  visage, — as  against  the  doo7n,) 
Is  thought-sick — at  the  act. 

Queen.  Ah  me  !  what  act, — 

That  roars — so  loud, — and  thunders — in  the  inde.v  ? 

Ham.    Look  here, — upon  this  picture, — and — on  this ; 
The  counterfeit — presentment — of  two  brothers. 
See  what  a  grace  — was  seated — on  this  broio  : 
Hyperion's  curls ;    the  front — of  Jove — himself ; 
An  eye — like  Mars, — to  threaten — or — command; 
A  station — like  the  herald  Mercury, 
iVew-lighted — on  a  heaven-Ws&mg  hill; 
A  combination — and  a  form, — indeed, 
Where  every  god — did  seem — to  set  his  seal, 
To  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  man : 
This — was — your  husband.     Look  j^ou — noto — what  follows: 
Here — is — your  husband;  like  a  mildew' d  ear, — 
Blasting — his  loholesome — brother.     Have  you  eyes? 
Coidd  you — on  this  fair  mountain — leave — to  feed — 
And  batten — on  this  moor  ?     Ha !  have  you — eyes  ? 
You  ca7i  not — call  it  love  :  for, — at  your  age, — 
The  hey-day — in  the  blood — is  tome, — it 's  humble, — 
And  waits — upon  the  judgment :   and  what  judgment 
Would  step — from  this — to  this"? 

Queen.  Oh  !  speak  no  more : 

Thou  turn'st  mine  eyes — into  my  very  soul; 
And  there — I  see — such  black — and  graiw-d  spots — 
As  will  not — leave  their  tinct.     Oh!  speak  to  me — no  more; 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  261 

These  words, — (like  daggers,) — enter  in  mine  ears 
No  more, — sweet  Hamlet. 

Ham.  A  murderer — and  a  villain; 

A  slave, — th't  is  not  twentieth  part — the  tithe — 
Of  your  precedent  lord:  a  vice — of  kings; 
A  CM^purse — of  the  empire — and  the  rule  ; 
Th't — (from  a  shelf)  the  precious  diadem  stole, 
And  put  it — in  his  pocket  I 

Queen.  '  No  more ! 

Ham.    A  king — of  shreds — and  patches  : [^Enier  Ghost. 

Save  me, — and  hover  o'er  me — with  your  iciiigs, —  \ 

You  heavenly  guards ! — What  ivoidd — you,  gracious  figure  ? 

Queen.    Alas!  he's  mad! 

Ham.    Do  you  not  come — your  tardy  son  to  chide, 
Th't, — (lapsed  in  time — and  passion,)  lets  go  bg 
The  important  acting — of  j'our  dread  command? 
Oh,  say! 

Ghost.    Do  not  forget :   this  visitation — 
Is  but  to  whet — thy  almost — blunted  purpose. 
But — look !  amazemc7it — on  thy  mother  sits : 
Oh  !  stcjj — between  her — and  her  fighting  soul: 
Conceit — in  weakest  bodies — strongest — works: 
Speak  to  her, — Hamlet. 

Ham.  How  is  it — with  you,  lady  ? 

Queen.    Alas!  \io\w — is 't  with  ?/om, 
Th't  you  do  bend  your  eye — on  vacancy, 
And — (with  the  incorporeal  air) — do  hold  discourse  ? 
Whereon — do  you  look  ? 

Ham.    On  him  !  on  him  !    Look  you, — how  pale  he  glares  I 
His  form, — and  cause — conjoined, — preaching — to  stones, — 
Would  make  them  capable.     Do  not  look — upon  me; 
Lest, — (with  his  piteous  action,)  you  convert 
My  stern  effects :  then — what  I  have  to  do — 
"Will  want  true  color:  tears, — [perchance,)  for  blood. 

Queen.    To  whom — do  you  speak  this  ? 

Ham.  Do  you  see  nothing — there? 

Queen.    Nothing — at  all ; — yet — all — th't  is — I  see. 

Ham.    Nor — did  you  nothing — hear? 

Queen.  No, — nothing,  but  ourselves. 

Ham.    Why,  look  j'ou  there !  look,  how  it  steals  away  ! 
My  father,  in  his  habit — as  he  Hoed! 
Look!  where  he  goes, — even  now, — out  at  the  portal!     \_Exit  Ghost. 

Qtceen.    This — is  the  very  coinage — of  your  brain : 
This  bodiless  creation — ecstasy — 
Is  very  cunning  in. 

Ham.  Ecstasy ! 

My  pulse, — (as  yours,)  doth  temperately — ^keep  time, — 
And  make — as  healthful  music.     It  is  not  madness — 
Th't  I  have  utter' d:  bring  me  to  the  test, — 


262  MANUAL  OP  ELOCUTION. 

And  I — the  matter — will  re-word  ;  which  madness — 
Would  gambol  from.     Mother,  (for  love  of  grace,) — 
Lay  not — that — -flattering  unction — to  your  soul, — 
Th't  not  your  trespass, — but  my  madness, — speaks: 
It  will  but  skin — and  film — the  ulcerous  place, — 
"Whilst  rank  corruption, — (mining  all — within), — 
Injects — unseen.     Confess  yourself — to  Heaven; 
Repent — what 's  ^ja.s< ;  avoid — what  is  to  come  ; 
And  do  not  spread  the  comjoost — on  the  weeds, — 
To  make  them — ranker. 

Queen.    O  Hamlet !  thou  hast  cleft  my  heart — in  twain. 

Ham.    Oh,  throw  away — the  worser  part  of  it, 
And  live — the  purer — with  the  other  half. 
Good — night;  once  more — good — night  ! 
And — when  you  are  desirous — to  be  blest — • 
I'll — blessing — beg  of  you. 

:XXVIII.— LEAK  AND  HIS  DAUGHTEKS.    Shakespeare. 

Lear.    Give  me  the  map  there.     Kiww,  th't  we  have  divided 
(In  three) — our  kingdom:  and  't  is  our  fast  intent 
To  shake  all  cares — and  business — from  our  age ; 
Conferring  them — on  younger  strengths,  while  we — 
( Unburthen' d)  crawl  toward  death.     Our  son  of  Cornwall, 
And  you,  (our  no  less  loving  son — of  Albany,) 
We  have — (this  hour)  a  constant   will — to  publish 
Our  daughters' — several  dowers,  th't  future  strife 
May  be  prevented — now.     The  princes,  [France — and  Burgundy, 
Great  rivals — in  our  youngest  daughter's  love,) 
Long  in  our  court — ^liave  made  their  amorous  sojourn. 
And  here — are  to  be  answe7'ed.     Tell  me,  my  daughters, — 
(Since  now — we  will  divest  us — both  of  7'ule, 
Interest  of  territory,  cares  of  state,) — 
Which  of  you — (shall  we  say)  doth  love  us  most? 
Th't  we — our  largest  bounty — may  extend — 
Where  nature — doth  with  merit  challenge.     Goiieril, 
(Our  eldest-horn,)  speak  first. 

Goneril.    Sir,  I  love  you — more  than  word — can  wield  the  matter; 
Dearer — than  eye-sight,  space, — and  liberty; 
Beyond — what  can  be  valued, — I'ich — or  rare ; 
No  less — than  life, — with  grace,  health,  beauty,  honor  ; 
As  much — as  child — e'er  loved,  or  father — found. 
A  love  that  makes  breath — poo?',  and  speech — unable; 
Beyond — all  manner — of  so  much — I  love  you. 

Cordelia    [aside.']    (What  shall  Corrfeiia  do?    Love, — and  be  silent !) 

Lear.    Of  all  these  bounds,  (even  from  this  line — to  this, 
With  shadowy  forests — and  with  champaigns  rich'd, 
With  plenteous  rivers  and  M';c?«-skirted  meads,) 
We  make  thee — lady :    To  thine — and  Albany's  issues — 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  263 

Re  ihis — ■perpeiiial.     What  says  our  second  daughter, 
Our  dearest  Regan,  wife — to  Cornwall  ?     Speak. 

Regan.    I — am  made  of  that  self  metal — as  my  sister, 
And  prize  me — at  her  worth.     In  my  ti'ue  heart 
I  find — she — names  my  very  deed  of  love; 
Only — she  comes  too  short; — th't  / — profess 
Myself — an  enemy — to  all — other  joys, 
Which  the  most  j)recions  square — of  sense  possesses; 
And  find — I  am — alone — felicitate — 
In  your  dear — highness^  love. 

Cor    [aside.'\  [Then — poor  Cordelia  I 

And  yet — not  so ;  since,  I  am  sure, — my  love  's 
More  richer — than  my  tongue.) 

Lear.    To  thee — and  thine, — [hereditary — ever,)^ 
Remain — this  ample  third — of  our  fair  kingdotn; 
No  less — in  space,  validity,  and  pleasure. 
Than  that — conferr'd  on  Goneril.     Now, — our  joy, 
(Although  our  last,  not  least;  to  whose  young  love— 
The  vines — of  France — and  tnilk — of  Burgundy — 
Strive — to  be  interess'd;)  what  can  you  say,  to  draw 
A  third — more  opulent — than  your  sisters?    Speak. 

Cor.     Nothing, — my  lord. 

Lear.    Nothing  ? 

Cor.     Nothing. 

Lear.   Nothing — will  come  of  nothing :  speak  again. 

Cor.     Unhappy — th't  I  am,  I  can  not  heave 
My  heart — into  my  mouth :  I  love  your  majesty — 
According  to  my  bond;  nor  more, — nor  less. 

Lear.    How,  how,  Cordelia?  ynend  your  speech — a  little, 
Lest  you  mar — your  fortunes. 

Cor.  Good  my  lord, 

You  have  begot  me,  bred  me, — loved  me !     I 
Return  those  duties  back — as  are  right  fit, 
Obey  you, — love  you,  and  most  honor  you. 
Why — have  my  sisters — husbands,  if  they  say — 
They  love  you — all  ?     Haply,  when  /  shall  wed. 
That  lord — whose  hand — must  take  my  plight  shall  carry 
Half — my  love — with  him,  half— my  care — and  duty: 
Sure, — / — shall  never  marry — like  my  sisters,  i 

To  love  my  father — all. 

Lear.   But — goes  thy  heart — with  this  ? 

Cor.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Lear.   So  young,  and  so — untender  ? 

Cor.      So  young,  (my  lord,)  and  true. 

Lear.   Let  it  be  so;  thy  ti-uth,  (then,)  he  thy  dower: 
For,  (by  the  sacred  radiance — of  the  sun. 
The  mysteries — of  Hecate  and  the  night; 
By  all  the  operation  of  the  orbs. 
From  whom — we  do  exist,  and  cease — to  be;) 


264  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Here — I  disclaim — all  1113-  paternal  care, 

Propinquity — and  ■property — of  blood, 

And — as  a  stranger — to  my  heart — and  me — 

Hold  thee,  from  this, — for  ever!    The  barbarous  Scythian, 

Or — he — th't  makes  his  generation  messes — 

To  gorge  his  appetite,  shall — (to  my  bosom) — 

Be  as  well  neighbor  d,  pitied,  and  relieved, 

As  thou, — my  [sometime)  daughter. 

Kent.  Good  my  liege, • 

Lear.    Peace,  Kent! 
Coyne  not — between  the  dragon — and  his  wrath. 
I  loved  her — m,ost,  and  thought  to  set  my  rest — 
On  her  kind  nursery.     Hence,  and  avoid  my  sight! 
So — be  my  grave — my  peace,  as  here — I  give 
Her  father's  heart — from  her  !     Call  France :     Who  stirs  9 
Call  Burgundy.     Cornwall — and  Albany, 
With  my  two  daughters'  dowers — digest — the  third  : 
Let  pride,  (which  she — calls  plainness,)  marry  her. 
I  do  invest  you — -jointly — with  my  power, 
Pre-etninence,  and  all  the  large  effects — 
Th't  troop — with  majesty.     Ourself, — (by  monthly  course, 
With  reservation — of  an  hundred  knights, 
By  you — to  be  sustain'd,)  shall  our  abode 
Make  with  you — by  due  turiis.     Only — we  still — retain 
The  name  and  all  the  additions — to  a  king ; 
The  sway,  revenue,  execution — of  the  rest, 
(Beloved  sons,)  be  yours:  which — to  confirm. 
This  coronet — j^art — betwixt  you.  \_Giving  the  crown. 

Kent.                                             Royal  Lear, 
Whom  I  have  ever — honored — as  my  king. 
Loved — as  my  father,  as  my  master — -folluw^d, 
As  my  great  patron — thought  on — in  my  prayers, 

Lear.    The  bow — is  bent — and  drawn,  make — from  the  shaft! 

Kent.    Let  it  fall  rather,  though  the  fork — invade 
The  region  of  my  heart:  be  Kent — unmannerly — 
When  Lear — is  'inad.     What — would'st  thou  do,  old  man? 
ThinKst  thou — th't  duty — shall  have  dread — to  speak — 
When  ])ower — to  flattery  bows?     To  plainness — honoris  bound, 
When  majesty — falls  to  folly.     Reverse  thy  doom  ; 
And,  (in  thy  best  consideration,)  check — 
This  hideous  rashness:  answer  my  life — rr\y  judgment. 
Thy,  yoiingest  daughter — does  not  love  thee — least; 
Nor — are  those — em^/^z-hearted — whose  low  sounds — 
Reverb  no  hollowness. 

Lear.  Kent,  on  thy  life, — no  more. 

Kent.    My  life — I  never  held — but  as  a  pawn — 
To  wage  against  thine  enemies;  nor — fear — to  lose  it, 
Thy  safety — being  the  motive. 

Lear.  Out  of  my  sight ! 


MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION.  265 

Kent.    See  better,  Lear;   and  let  me  still — remain 
The  true  blank — of  thine  eye. 

Lear.    Now,  by  Apollo, 

Kent.  Now,  by  Apollo, — king, 

Thou  swear'st  thy  gods — in  vain. 

Lear.  Hear  me, — recreant  I 

On  thine  allegiance, — hear  me ! 
Since  thou  hast  sought — to  make  us  break  our  vo>vs, 
(Which — we  durst  7ievcr — get,)  and — with  strain'd  pride- 
To  comr — betwixt  our  sentence — and  our  power, 
(Which — nor  our  nature — nor  our  place  can  bear,) 
Our  potency — made  good,  take — thy  reward. 
Five  days — we  do  allot  thee — for  provision — 
To  shield  thee — from  diseases — of  the  world; 
And — (on  the  sixth)  to  turn  thy  hated  back — 
Upon  our  kingdotn :  if  (on  the  tenth  day — following) 
Thy  banish 'd  trunk — be  found — in  our  dominions, 
The  moment — is  thy  death.     Away !  by  Jupiter, 
This  shall  not  be  revoked. 

Kent.  Fare  thee — rvell, — king :  sith  thus — thou  wilt  appear. 
Freedom — lives  hence,  and  banishment — is  here. 
[To  Cordelia.l    The  gods — to  their  dear  shelter — take  thee,  maid, 
Th't  justly — think' st,  and  hast  most  rightly — said! 
[To  Gon.  and  Reg.']   And  your  large  speeches — may  your  deeds — approve, 
Th't  good  effects — may  spring — from  words  of  love. 
Thus — Kent, — (O  princes,)  bids  you  all — adieu; 
He  '11  shape  his  old  course — in  a  country  new.         [Exit. 
[Enter  Gloucester,  France,  and  Burgundy.] 

Glou.    Here's  France — and  Burgundy,  (my  noble  lord.) 

Lear.    My  lord — [o?  Burgutidy,) 
We  first — address  toward  you,  who — (with  this  king) — 
Hath  rival' d — for  our  daughter :  ivhat,  (in  the  least,) 
Will  you  require — in  present  dower — ivith  he?', 
Or  cease — your  quest  of  love  ? 

Burgundy.  Most  royal  majesty, 

I  crave — no  more — than  hath  your  highness — offered, 
Nor  will  you — tender — less. 

Lear.  Right  7wblc  Burgundy, 

When  she — was  dear  to  us,  we  did  hold  her  so ; 
But  now — her  price — is  fallen.     Sir,  there — she  stands; 
If  aught- — within  that  little, — seeming  substance, 
Or  all  of  it,  (with  our  displeasure  pieced,) 
And  nothing — more,  may  fitly — like  your  grace, 
She 's  there,  and — she — is  yours. 

Bur.  I  knoxv — no  answer. 

Lear.    Will  you,  (with  these  infirmities — she  owes, 
Unfriended,  »ifM?-adopted  to  our  hate, 
Dowered — with  our  curse,  and  siranger'd — with  our  oath,) 
Take  her,  or — leave  her ! 


266  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

Bur.  Pardo7i  me,  royal  sir; 

Election — makes  not  up — on  such  conditions. 

Lear.    Then — leave  her,  sir;  for,  (by  the  power — th't  made  me.) 
I  tell  you — all  her  wealth.     [To  Fra)ice.'\     For  you, — great  king, 
I  would  7iot — from  your  love — make  such  a  stray, 
To  match  you — where  I  hate ;  therefore — beseech  you 
To  avert  your  liking — a  more  worthier  way — 
Than — on  a  wretch — whom  nature — is  ashamed 
(^Almost) — to  acknowledge  hers. 

France.  This — is  most  strange, 

Th't  she,  (th't  even  but  7iow — was  your  best  object, 
The  argument — of  your  praise,  balm — of  your  age, 
Most  best,  most  dearest,)  should — (in  this  trice  of  time) 
Commit  a  thing — so  m,onstroiis,  to  dismantle — 
So  many  folds — oi  favor.     Sure,  her  offense — 
Must  be  of  such  unnatural  degree 
Th't  monsters  it, — or — your  /o?'e-vouch'd  affection — 
Fall'n  into  taint:  which — to  believe — of  her 
Must  be  a  faith — th't  reason — (without  miracle) — 
Could  never  plant  in  me. 

Cor.  I  yet — beseech  your  majesty, — 

(If — for  I  want — that  glib — and  oily  art. 
To  speak — and  purpose  not ;  since — what  I  well  intend 
I  '11  do  H — before  I  speak,) — th't  you  make  known — 
It  is  no  vicious  blot,  murder,  or  foulness, 
No  unchaste  action — or  dishonored  step, 
Th't  hath  deprived  me — of  jour  grace — and  favor: 
But — even — for  want  of  thai — for  which — I  am  richer^ 
A  s^iW-soliciting  eye,  and  such  a  tongue — 
As  I  am  glad — I  have  not ;  though  not  to  have  it 
Hath  lost  me — in  your  liking. 

Lear.  Better — thou 

Hadst  not  been  born — than — not  to  have  pleas'd  me — better. 

France.    Is  it — but  this, — a  tardiness — in  nature, 
Which  often — leaves  the  history — unspoke — 
Th't  it  intends  to  do  ?     My  lord  of  Burgundy, 
"What  say  you — to  the  lady  ?     Love  's — 7ioi  love — 
"When  it  is  mingled  with  regards  th't  stand 
Aloof — from  the  entire  point.     Will  you  have  her? 
She  is  herself — a  dowry. 

Bur.  Royal  Lear, 

Give — but  that  portion — which  yourself— proposed. 
And  here — I  take — Cordelia — by  the  hand, 
Duchess — of  Burgundy. 

Lear.  Nothing :  I  have  sworn ;  I  am  firm. 

Bur.    I  am  sorry, — then,  you  have  so — lost  a  father — 
Th't  you  must  lose — a  husband. 

Cor.  Peace — be  with  Burgundy! 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  267 

Since — th't  respects  of  fortune — are  hia  love, 
I — shall  not  be — his  wife. 

France.    Fairest  Cordelia,  that  art  most  rich,  being  poor; 
Most  choice,  [forsaken;)  and  most  loved, — [despised I) 
Thee — and  thy  virtues — here — I  seize  upon  : 
Be  it — lawful, — /  take  up — what 's  cast  away. 
Gods,  gods!  'tis  strange — th't — from  their  cold'st  neglect — 
My  love — ^should  kindle — to  inflamed  respect. 
Thy  dowerless  daughter,  (king,)  thrown  to  my  chance^ 
Is  qvsen — of  us,  of  ours,  and  our  fair  France: 
Not  all  the  dukes — of  waterish  Burgundy — 
Can  buy — this — unpriz'd — precious  maid  of  me. 
Bid  them  farewell, — (Cordelia,) — though — unkind: 
Thou  losest — here,  a  better — cohere  to  find. 

Lear.    Thou  hast  her.  Prance ;  let  her  be  thine,  for  toe- 
Have  no  such  daughter,  nor  shall  ever — see 
That  face  of  hers — again.     Therefore  be  gone — 
Without  our  grace,  our  love,  our  benison. 
Come, — noble  Burgundy.  [^Exeunt. 

France.    Bid  farewell  to  your  sisters. 

Cor.    The  jewels — of  our  father, — (with  wash'd  eyes) 
Cordelia  leaves  you:  I  knoiv  you — what  you  are; 
And,  (like  a  sister,)  am  most  loath — to  call 
Your  faults — as  they  are  named.     Use  well  our  father : 
To  your  professed  bosoms — I  commit  him: 
But  yet, — (alas!)  stood  / — within  his  grace, 
I  would  prefer  him — to  a  better  place. 
So— farewell — to  you  both. 

Gon.    Prescribe  not  us — otcr  duties. 

Reg.  Let  your  study 

Be — to  content  your  lord ;  who  hath  received  you 
At  fortune's  alms.     You — have  obedience  scanted, — 
And  well — are  worth  the  want — th't  you  have  wanted. 

Cor.    Time — shall  unfold — what  plighted  cunning — hides: 
Who  covers  faults  at  last — shame — them  derides. 
Well — may  you  prosper! 

France.  Come, — my  fair  Cordelia.  [Exeunt. 

Gon.  Sister,  it  is  not  a  little — I  have  to  say — of  what  nearly — appertains 
to  us  both.     I  think — our  father — will  hence — to-night. 

Reg.    That's  most  certain,  and  with  you;  next  month  with  us. 

Gon.  You  see  how  full  of  changes — his  age  is ;  the  observation — we  have 
made  of  it — hath  not  been  little:  he  always — loved  our  sister — 7nost;  and 
with  what  poor  judgment — he  hath  noio — cast  her  off  appears  too  grossly. 

Reg.  'T  is  the  infirmity — of  his  age :  yet — he  hath  ever  but  slenderly — • 
known  himself. 

Gon.  The  best — and  soundest  of  his  time — hath  been  but  rash:  then — 
must  we  look — to  receive  from  his  age  not  alone  —  the  imperfections  —  of 
fo/i^'-engraffed  condition,  but,  (therewithal,)  the  unruly  wayivardness — th't 
infirm — and  choleric  years — bring  with  them. 


268  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION". 

Reg.  Such  unconstant  starts — are  we  like  to  have  from  him,  as  this — of 
Kent's  banishment. 

Gon.  There  is  further  complimerKt  of  ^ca»e-talving  between  France — and  him. 
Pray  you — let  us  hit  together :  if  our  father — carry  aufhority — with  such  dispo- 
Bitions  as  he  bears,  this  last  surrender  of  his — will  but  offend  us. 

Reg.    We  shall  further — tidnk  on  't. 

Gon.    "We  must  do  something, — and  i'  the  heat. 

Act  III.     Storm.     Enter  Kent  and  a  Gentleman. 

Kent.    Who 's  there,  besides  foul  weather  ? 

Gent.    One — minded  like  the  weather, — nipst  unquietly. 

Kent.    I  know  you.     Where's  the  king? 

Gent.    Contending  with  the  fretful  elements. 

Kent.    But  xoho — is  with  him? 

Gent.    None — but  the /oo?;  who  Majors — io  outjest 
His  Aea/-^-struck  injuries.  \_Enter  Lear  and  Fool. 

Lear.    Blow,  winds,  and  crack  your  cheeks!  rage!  blow! 
You  cataracts — and  hurricanoes, — spout — 
Till  you  have  drenched  our  steeples,  drowned  the  cocks! 
You  sulphurous — and  ^/tow^f/t^-executing  fires, 
{Y iinnt-couriers — to  oaA-cleaving  thunder-hoM?,,) — 
Singe — my  white  head!     And  thou, — ai^shaking  thunder, — 
Smite  fiat — the  thick  rotundity — of  the  world! 
Crack  nature's  molds,  all  germe)is  spill — (at  once,) 
Th't  make  ingrateful  man! 

Fool.  O  nuncle, — court  /io^?/-water — in  a  dry  house — is  better  than  this  rain- 
water— out  o' door.  Good  nuncle, — in,  and  ask  thy  daughters'  blessing:  here's 
a  night — pities  neither  wise  men — nor  fools. 

Lear.    Rumble — thy  bellyful !     Spit,  fire !  spout,  rain  ! 
Nor  rain,  wind,  thunder,  fire, — are  my  daughters ; 
I  tax  not  you,  (you  elements,)  with  unkindness ; 
I  never  gave  you — kingdom,  call'd  you — children; 
You — owe  me — no  subscription :  then — let  fall — 
Your  horrible  pleasure:  here  I  stand, — your  slave, 
A  poor, — infirm, — weak, — and  despised — old  man : 
But  yet — I  call  you — servile  ministers, 
Th't  have — with.iwo — pernicious  daughters — joined — 
Your  Ai<jrA-engender'd  battles — 'gainst  a  head — 
So — old — and  white — as  this.     Oh! — Oh!  'tis  foid! 

Fool.     He — th't  has  a  house — to  put 's  head  in — lias  a  good  Aearf-piece. 

Lear.    No !  I  will  be  the  pattern — of  all  patience : 
I  will  say  nothing.  \_Enter  Kent. 

Kent.    W^ho  's  there  ? 

Fool.     Marry,  here's  grace — and  a  cocf-piece;  that's  a  ivise  man — and  a  fool. 

Kent.    Alas!  sir,  are  yow  here?  things  t'h&t\oye  night 
Love  not  such  nights — as  tliese :  the  wrathful  skies — 
Gallow  the  very  wanderers — of  the  dark. 
And  make  them  keep  their  caves:  since  I  was  man 
Sudi  sheets  of  fire,  such  bursts  of  horrid  thunder, 


MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION.  269 

Such  groans — of  roaring  wind — and  rain, — I  never 
Remember  to  have  heard:  man's  nature — can  not  carry 
The  affliction — nor  the  fear. 

Lear.  Let  the  great  gods, 

(That  keep  this  dreadful  pother — o'er  our  heads,) 
Find  out  their  enemies — now.     Tremble, — thou  wretch, 
Th't  hast — within  thee — undmdged  crimes, 
Unwhip2}'d — of  justice:  hide  thee,  thou  bloody  hand; 
Thou  p)erjured,  and  thou  simular  man  of  virtue 
That  art  incestuous  :  caitiff, — to  pieces  shake, 
Th't — (under  covert — and  convenient  seeming) — 
Hast  practiced — on  man's  life  !     Close  pent-\\Y>  guilts, 
Hive — your  concealing  continents, — and  cry 
These  dreadful  suinmoners — grace  I     I — am  a  man — 
More — sinned  against — than  sinning. 

Kent.  Alack,  bare-headed ! 

Gracious  my  lord,  hard  by  here — is  a  hovel ; — 
Some  friendship — will  it  lend  you — 'gainst  the  tem,pest. 

Lear.  My  wits — ^begin  to  turn. 

Come  on, — my  boy:  how  dost,  my  boy?     Art  cold? 
I  am  cold — myself.     Where  is  this  straw,  my  fellow  ? 
The  art — of  our  necessities — is  strange, 
Th't  can  make  vile  things — precious.    Come,  your  hovel. 
Poor  fool — and  knave,  I  have  one  part  in  my  heart 
That 's  sorry  yet — for  thee.     Co7ne, — bring  us  to  this  hovel.     \_Exeunt. 

Scene  Fourth.      Enter  Lear,  Kent,  and  Fool. 

Kent.    Here — is  the  place,  my  lord;  good  my  lord,  enter: 
The  tyranny — of  this  open  night's — too  rough — 
For  nature — to  endure. 

Lear.  Let  me  alone. 

Kent.    Good  my  lord,  enter  here. 

Lear.  Wilt  break  my  heart  ? 

Kent.    I  'd  rather  break  mine  own.      Good  my  lord,  enter. 

-Lear.    Thou — think'st  't  is  much — th't  this  contentious  storm 
Invades  us — to  the  skin:  so  'tis — to  thee ; 
But — where  the  greater  malady  is  fix'd 
The  lesser — is  scarce  felt.     Thou'dst  shun  a  bear; 
But — if  thy  flight — lay  toward  the  raging  sea, — 
Thou'dst  meet  the  bear — i'  the  mouth.     When  the  mind' s— free 
The  body ' s— delicate :  the  tempest — in  my  tnind — 
Doth — from  my  senses — take  all  feeling — else, — 
Save — what  beats — there.     Filicd — ingratitude! 
Is  it  not — as  this  mouth — should  tear — this  hand — 
For  lifting  food  to't?     But — I  will  punish — home: 
No, — I  will  weep — no — more.     In  such  a  night — 
To  shut  me  otit !    Pour  on ;  I  will  endtire. 
In  such  a  night — as  this!     0  Regan,  Goner il! 
Your  old — kind— father,  whose  frank  heart — gave  all, 


270  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

Oh  !  thai  way  madness  lies;  let  me  shun  that; 
No  more  of  that  I 

Kent.  Good — my  lord,  enter  here. 

Lear.    Prithee, — go  in  thyself ;  seek  thine  own  ease : 
This  tempest — will  not  give  me  leave — to  ponder 
On  things — would  hurt  me — iiiore.     But — I'll  go  in. 
Poor — naked  wretches, — [wheresoever  you  are, 
Th't  bide  the  pelting — of  this  pitiless  storm,) 
How — shall  your  houseless  heads — and  unfed  sides, 
Tour  loop'd — and  window'd  raggedness,  defend  you 
From  seasons — such  as  these?     Oh, — I — have  ta'en 
Too  little  care  of  this !     Take  physic, — pomp  ; 
Expose  thyself — to  feel — what  wretches  feel ; 
Th't  thou  ma3''st  shake  the  superflux — to  them, 
And  show  the  heavens — more  just. 

Act  IV. — Scene  Fourth.     Enter  Cordelia,  Physician,  and  Soldiers. 

Cor.    Alack!  'tis  he:  why,  he  was  m,et — even  now — 
As  mad — as  the  vex'd  sea;  singing  aloud; 
Croion'd — with  rank  fumiter — and  furrow  weeds, 
With  hardocks,  hemlock,  nettles, — cMcA'oo-flowers, 
Darnel, — and  all  the  idle  weeds — th't  grow 
In  our  sustaining  corn.     A  century  send  forth ; 
Search  every  acre — in  the  high-grown  field, 
And  bring  him — to  our  eye.  \_Exit  an  Officer. 

"What — can  m.an's  wisdom  do— 
In  the  restoring  his  bereaved  sense  ? 
He  th't  helps  him,  take  all — my  outward  worth. 

Physician.  There  is  means, — madam : 

Our  foster-nurse — of  nature — is  repose, 
The  which — he  lacks;  that — to  provoke  in  him 
Are  many  simples  operative,  whose  power — 
"Will  close  the  eye  of  anguish. 

Cor.  All  bless'd  secrets, 

All  you  unpublished  virtues — of  the  earth, — 
Spring — with  my  tears !  be  aidant — and  remediate 
In  the  good  man's  distress  I     Seek,  seek  for  him ; 
Lest  his  ungoverned  rage — dissolve  the  life — 
Th't  wants  the  means — to  lead  it.  [Enter  Messenger. 

Messenger.  News,  madam: 

The  British  powers — are  marching  hithcrward. 

Cor.    ^T  IS  known — before;  our  preparation — ^stands 
In  expectation  of  them.     O  dear  father  ! 
It  is  thy  business — th't  I  go  about; 
Therefore — great  France — 

My  mourning— &.n&  important  tears — hath  pitied. 
No  blown  ambition — doth  our  arms  incite. 
But  love, — dear  love,  and  our  ag'd  father^ s  right: 
Soon — may  I  hear — and  see  him !  [Exe^mt. 


MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION.  271 

Scene  Seventh.     Lear  aslrcp.     Enter  Cordelia,  Kent,  and  Physician, 

Cor.    O  thou  good  Kent,  how  shall  I  live — and  work, 
To  match  thy  goodness  ?     ily  life — will  be  too  short, 
And  every  measure — -fail  me. 

Kent.    To  be  acknowledged, — madam,  is  o'er-paid. 
All  my  reports — go  with  the  modest  truth; 
Nor  more, — nor  clipp'd, — but  so. 

Cor.  Be  better  suited: 

These  weeds — are  tnemories — of  those  worser  hours : 
I  prithee, — put  them  off. 

Kent.  Pardon  me,  dear  madam; 

Tet — to  be  known — shortcuts — my  made  intent: 
My  boon — I  make  it  th't  you  know  me  not — 
Till  time — and  / — think  7Jiect. 

Cor.    Then  be't  so,  my  good  lord.     \_To  Phys.'\  How  does  the  king? 

Phys.    Madam,  sleeps  still. 

Cor.  O  you  kind  gods, 

Cure — this  great  breach — in  his  abused  nature! 
The  untuned — and  jarring  senses,  oh,  wind  up — 
Of  this  cAiYcZ-changed  father ! 

Phys.  So  please  your  majesty, — 

Th't  we  may  wake  the  king?  he  hath  slept  long. 

Cor.    Be  governed  by  your  knowledge,  and  proceed — 
I'  the  sway  of  your  own  will.     Is  he  arrayed? 

Gent.    Ay, — madam ;  in  the  heaviness  of  his  sleep — 
Wo  put  fresh  garments  on  him. 

Phys.    Be  by,  (good  madam,)  when  we  do  awake  him; 
I  doubt  not — of  his  temperance. 

Cor.  Very  well. 

Phys.    Please  you,  draw  near.     Louder — the  inusic  there  I 

Cor.    0  my  dear  father !     Restoration,  hang 
TJiy  medicine — on  my  lips;  and  let  this  kiss — 
Repair — those  violent  harms — th't  my  two  sisters — 
Have — in  thy  reverence — made ! 

Kent.  Kind — and  dear  princess  ! 

Cor.     Had  yon — not  been  their  father, — these — white  flakes—' 
Had  challenged  jnty  of  them.     Was  this — a  face — 
To  be  opposed — against  the  warring  winds  ? 
To  stand — against  the  deep — c?rcac?-bolted  thunder  ; 
In  the  mo'&i  terrible — and  nimble  stroke 
Of  quick,  cross  ligJitning  ?  to  watch, — {poor  perdu  !) 
With  tJiis — thin  helm?     Mine  enemy's  dog, 
(Thougli  he  had  bit  me,)  should  have  stood — {that  night) 
Against  my  fire ;  and — wast  thou  fain,  (poor  father,) 
To  hovel  thee — with  swine  and  rogues  forlorn. 
In  short — and  musty  straw  ?     Alack,  alack  I 
'T  is  wonder — th't  thy  life — and  wits — (at  once) — 
Had  not  concluded  all.    He  wakes!  speak  to  hhn! 


272  MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION. 

Phys.    Madam, — do  you;  't\s  fittest. 

Cor.      How  does — my  royal  lord?     How  fares  your  majesty? 

Lear.    You  do  me  wrong — to  take  me  out  o'  the  grave : 
Thou — art  a  soul — in  bliss;  but  / — am  bound — 
Upon  a  wheel  o?  fire,  th't  mine  own  tears — 
Do  scald — like  molten  lead. 

Cor.  Sir,  do  you  knoiv  me  ? 

Lear.   You  are  a  spirit, — I  know  :  when  did  you  die  ? 

Cor.      Still, — STILL— /a?'  wide  I 

Phys.    He 's  scarce  awake ;  let  him  alone — awhile, 

Lear.    Where — have  I  6ee?i?     Where — am  11     Fair  c^aylight  ? 
I  am  mightily — abused.     I  should  e'en  die — with  pity 
To  see  another  thus.     I  know  not — what  to  say. 
I  will  not  swear — these  are  m,y  hands :  let 's  see ; 
I  feel  this  pin  prick.     Would — I  were  assured — 
Of  my  co7idition. 

Cor.  Oh,  look  upon  me,  sir, 

And  hold  your  hand — in  benediction  o'er  me: 
No, — sir, — you  must  not  kiieel. 

Lear.  Pray,  do  not  mock  me : 

I  am  a  very  foolish — fond — old  man. 
Fourscore — and  upward;  not  an  hour — more  nor  less: 
And,  (to  deal  plainly,) 
I  fear — I  am  not — in  my  perfect  ^nind. 
Methinks — I  should  know  you,  and  know  this  tnan; 
Yet — I  am  doubtful :  for  I  am  mainly  ignorant — 
What  place  this  is :  and  all  the  skill  I  have 
Remembers  not — these — garments;  nor — I  know  not — 
Where — I  did  lodge — last  nighi.     Do  not  laugh  at  me  ; 
For,  as  I  am  a  man,  I  think  this  lady — 
To  be  my  child — Cordelia. 

Cor.  And  so — I  am, — I  am. 

Lear.   Be  t/ow  tears — wet?     Fes, 'faith.     1.  pray — weepnoi; 
If  you  have  poison  for  me  I  will  drink  it. 
I  know — you — do  not  love  me ;  for  your  sisters — 
Have, — (as  I  do  remember,)  done  me  ivrong : 
You — have  some  cause,  they — have  not. 

Cor.  No  cause, — no  cause  I 

Lear.    Am  I — in  France? 

Kent.  In  your  ow7i  kingdom,  sir. 

Lear.    Do  not  abuse  me. 

Phys.    Be  comforted, — good  inadam :  the  great  rage, 
(Y''ou  see,)  is  cured  in  him:   and  yet  it  is  danger — 
To  make  him — even  o'er  the  time — he  has  lost. 
Desire  him  to  go  in;  trouble  him  no  more 
Till  further  settling. 

Cor.      Will 't  please  your  highness — ivalk  ? 

Lear.  You  must  bear  with  me ; 

Pray  you  now, — forget — and  forgive:  I  am  old — and  foolish. 


MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION.  273 

Act  V. — Scene  Third.     Lear  and  Cordelia,  as  prisoners. 

Cor.     We — are  not  the  first — 
Who,  (with  best  meaning,) — have  incurr'd  the  worst. 
For  thee, — (oppressed  king,)  am  I  cast  down; 
Myself — could — else — ovkt-frown — false  fortune! s  frown. 
Shall  we  not  see — these  daughters, — and  these  sisters? 

Lear.    No,  ?io;  no,  no  I     Coyne, — let's  away — to  jyrison; 
We  two — alone — will  sitig — like  birds — i'  the  cage  : 
When  thou — dost  ask  me — blessing,  I'll  kneel  down, 
And  ask  of  thee — -forgiveness:  so — we'll  live, 
And  pray, — and  sing,  and  tell  old  tales,  and  laugh — 
At  gilded  buitcrfiics,  and  hear  poor  rogues 
Talk  of  court  news;  and  we'll  talk  with  them — too, 
Who — loses, — and  %vho — wins;  tvho's  in,  who's  out; 
And  take  upon  us — the  tnystery  of  things, — 
As  if  we — were  God's  spies:  and  we'll  wear  out, 
(In  a  wall'd  prison,)  packs — and  sects — of  great  ones, 
That  ebb — and  fiow — by  the  moon. 
Upon  such  sacrifices,  (my  Cordelia,) 

The  gods  [themselves)  throw  incense.     Have  I — caught  thee? 
He — tli't  parts  us — shall  bring  a  brand — from  heaven 
And  fire  us  hence, — like  foxes.     Wipe  thine  eyes ; 
The  good — years — shall  devour  them,  fiesh — and  fell, 
Ere  they  shall  make  us  weep:  we'll  see  'em  starve — first, 

XXIX.— LADY  MACBETH  AND  HER  HUSBAND.    Shakespeare, 

Lady  Macbeth.    Glamis — thou  art,  and  Cawdor ;  and  shalt  be — 
What  thou  art  promised.     Yet — do  I  fear — thy  nature; 
It  is  too  full  o'  the  milk  of  human  kindness 
To  catch  the  nearest  way.     Thou  would'st  be  great; — 
Art  not  without  ambition:  but — without 

The  illness — should  attend  it.     What  thou  would'st — highly, — 
That — would'st  thou  holily;  would'st  not  play  false, — 
And  yet — would'st  wrongly — win:  thou'dst  have,  (great  Glamis,) 
That — which  cries, — '■Thus — thou  must  do,  if  thou  fiave  it; 
And  t]iat—\v\\ic\i — rather — thou  dost  fear  to  do — 
Than  wishesi — should  be  undone'     Hie  thee  hither, 
Th't  I  may  pour  iny  spirits — in  thine  ear; 
And  chastise — (with  the  valor  of  my  tongue) — 
All  th't  impedes  thee — from-the  golden  round. 
Which  fate — and  metaphysical  aid — doth  seem 
To  have  thee  crown' d  withal.     What — is  your  tidings?     [^Enter  Messenger. 

Messenger.    The  king— comes  here  to-night. 

Lady  M.  Thou 'rt  mad  to  say  it: 

Is  not  thy  m.nster  with  him?  who,  (were't  so,) 
Would  have  inform'd — for  preparation. 

Mess.    So, — (please  you,)  it  is  true;  our  thane — is  coming: 
One  of  my  fellows — had  the  speed  of  him; 

18 


274  MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION. 

"Who, — (almost  dead — for  breath,)  had  scarcely  more — 
Than  would  make  up  his  message. 

Lady  M.  Give  him  tending.      [Exit  Messenger, 

He  brings  great  news.     The  raven — [himself) — is  hoarse 
Th't  croaks — the  fatal  entrance  of  Duncan — 
Under  my  battlements.     Come,  you  spirits 
(Th't  tend — on  mortal  thoughts,)  unsex  me — here: 
And  fill  me, — (from  the  crown — to  the  toe,)  top-full — 
Of  direst  cruelty!  make  thick — my  blood, 
Stop  up  the  access — and  passage — to  remorse, 
Th't  no  compunctious  visitings — of  nature — 
Shake — my  fell  purpose, — nor  keep  peace — between 
The  effect — and  it !     Come — to  my  ivoman's  breasts, — 
And  take  my  milk — for  gall,  (you  murdering  ministers,) 
Wherever — (in  your  sightless  substances) — 
You  wait — on  nature's  mischief!     Come, — thick  night, — 
And  jmll  thee — in  the  dunnest  smoke — of  hell, 
Th't  my  keen  knife — see  not — the  wound  it  makes; 
Nor  heaven — peep  through  the  blanket — of  the  dark — 

To  cry, — 'Hold,  hold!'' Great  Glamis !  worthy  Cawdor  I  [Enter  Macb. 

Greater — than  both, — by  the — all-hail  hereafter  I 
Thy  letters — have  transported  me — beyond — 
This  ignorant  present, — and  I  feel — now 
The  future  in  the  instant. 

Macbeth.  My  dearest  love, 

Duncan — comes  here — to-night.  '  • 

Lady  M.  And  ivhen — goes  hence  ? 

Macb.      To-morrow, — (as  he  jnuyoses.) 

Lady  M.  Oh,  never — 

Shall  sun — that  morrow — see! 
Your  face, — (my  thane,)  is  as  a  book, — where  man 
May  read — strange  matters.     To  beguile  the  time, — 
Look — like  the  time;  bear  welcome — in  your  eye, — 
Your  ha7id, — your  tongue :  look — like  the  innocent  flower, 
But — be  the  serpent — under  it.     He  that's  coming 
Must  be  provided  for:  and  you — shall  put 
This  night's — great  business — into  m,y  dispatch; 
"Which  shall — (to  all  our  nights — and  days — to  come) 
Give — [solely) — sovereign  sxvay — and  masterdom. 

Macb.       "We  will  speak  further. 

Lady  M.  Only — look  up — clear; 

To  alter  favor — ever  is — to  fear. 
Leave  all  the  rest — to  me. 

Scene  Fourth. 
Enter  Dimcan,  Malcolm,  Donalbain,  Banquo,  Macduff,  Rosse,  Angus,  etc. 
Duncan.    This  castle — hath  a  pleasant  seat ;  the  air 
[Nimbly — and  sweetly) — recommends  itself 
Unto  our  gentle  senses. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  275 

Banquo.  ^  This  guest  of  summer, — 

(The  ^ewjoZc-liaunting  martlet,)  does  approve, 
(By  his  loved  mansionry) — th't  the  heaveris  breath — 
Smells  wooingly  here :  no  jutty,— frieze, — 
Buttress, — nor  coigne  of  vantage, — but  this  bird — 
Hath  made  his  pendent  bed — and  procreant  cradle : 
Where  they — most  breed — and  haunt, — I  have  observed, — 
The  air  is  delicate.  [Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Dun.  See,  see!  our  honor'd  hostess  I 

The  love — th't  follows  us — (sometime) — is  our  trouble. 
Which  still — we  thank — as  love.     Herein — /  teach  you — 
How  you — shall  bid  God  yield  us  for  your  pains, — 
And  thank  us — for  your  trouble. 

Lady  M.  All  our  service — 

In  every  point — twice  done, — and  then — done  double. 
Were  p)oor — and  single  business — to  contend 
Against  those  honors — [deep — and  broad)  wherewith 
Your  majesty — loads  our  house :  for  those — of  old, — 
And  the  late  dignities — heap'd  up — to  them,, — 
We  rest — your  hermits. 

Dun.  Where  's  the  thane  of  Cawdor  ? 

We  coursed  him — at  the  heels, — and  had  a  purpose — 
To  be  his  purveyor :  but — he  rides  well ; 
And  his  great  love, — [sharp — as  his  spur,) — hath  Jiolp  him 
To  his  home — before  us.     Fair  and  noble  hostess, 
We  are  your  guest  to-night. 

Lady  M.  Your  servants — ever — 

Have  theirs — (themselves,)  and — what  is  theirs, — in  compt, 
To  make  their  audit — at  your  highness'  pleasure, — 
Still — to  return  your  own. 

Dun.  Give  me  your  hand: 

Conduct  me — to  mine  host;  we  love  him — highly, 
And  shall  continue  our  graces  toward  him. 
By  your  leave, — (hostess.)  [^Exeunt. 

Scene  Seventh.     Enter  Macbeth. 

Macb.    If  it  were  done, — when  't  is  done,  then — 't  were  well — 
It  were  done  quickly.     If  the  assassination — 
Could  trammel  up  the  consequence, — and  catch, — 
(With  his  surcease,) — success ;  th't — but  this  blow — 
Might  be  the  6e-all — and  the  end-'d\] — here, — 
But — here, — (upon  this  bank — and  shoal  of  tijne,) 
We'd  jump — the  life — to  come.     But — (in  these  cases,) — 
We  still — have  judgment — here;  th't  we  but  teach — 
Bloody  instructions, — which, — (being  taught,) — return — 
To  plague — the  inventor.     This  even-handed  justice 
Commends  the  ingredients — of  our  poison'd  chalice — 
To  our  own  lips.     He's — here — in  double  trust; 
First, — as  / — am  his  kinsman — and — his  subject,— 


276  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION, 

Strong — [both)  against  the  deed;  then, — as  his  host, — 

Who  should — (against  his  murderer) — shut  the  door, — 

Nor  bear  the  knife — myself.     Besides,  this  Duncan — 

Hath  borne  his  faculties — so  meek, — hath  been 

So  clear — in  liis  great  office, — th't  his  virtues — 

"V^xW  plead — liice  angels, — {trumpct-iongwadi,)  against 

The  deep  damnation  of  his  taking  off: 

Andi  pity,  (like  a  naked — new-born  babe. 

Striding  the  blast,  or  heaven's  cherubim,,  horsed — 

Upon  the  sightless  couriers — of  the  air,) — 

Shall  blow  the  horrid  deed — in  every  eye, 

Th't  tears — shall  drown  the  wi7id.     I  have  no  spur 

To  prick  the  sides — of  my  intent, — but — only — 

Vaulting  ambition, — which  o'erleaps  itself, — 

A-iiA  falls — on  the  o^Aer.     Howjiow;  what  news.    [Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Lady  Macb.    He  has  almost  supp'd.    Why — have  you  left  the  cham,ber? 

Macb.    Hath  he  asArf  for  me ?        Lady  Macb.   Know  jou.  not — he  has? 

Macb.    We  will  proceed  no  further — in  this  business: 
He  hath  hotior'd  me — of  late;  and  / — have  bought 
Golden  opinions — (from  all  sorts  of  people,) 
Which  would  be  worn  now — in  their  newest  gloss, 
Nor  cast  aside — so  soon. 

Lady  Macb.  Was  the  hope — drunk — 

W^herein  you  dress' d  yourself?  hath  it  slept — since  9 
And  wakes  it — now, — to  look  so  green — and  pale — 
At  what  it  did — so  freely?     From  this  time, — 
Such — I  account — thy  love.     Art  thou  afeard — 
To  be  the  same — in  thine  own  act — and  valor — 
As  thou  art — in  desire  ?    Would'st  thou  have  that— 
Which  thou  esteem' st — the  ornament  of  life, — 
And  live — a  coward — in  thine  own  esteem; 
Letting — "I  dare  not" — wait  upon — "I  luould," 
Like  the  poor  cat — i'  the  adage? 

Macb.  Prithee, — peace : 

I  dare — do  all — th't  may  become  a  m,an; 
Who  dares — do  Tnore — is  7ione. 

Lady  Macb.  What  beast — was  it — then — 

Th't  made  you  break — this  enterprise — to  me  ? 
When  you  durst  do  it,  then — you  were  a  man; 
And, — to  be  more — than  what  you  were, — you  would 
Be  so  much  'more — the  tnan.     Nor  time, — nor  place, — 
Did  then  adhere, — and  yet — you  would — make  both  : 
They  have  made — themselves, — and  th't  theiv  fitness-^now 
Does  unmake  you.     I — have  given  suck;  and  know — 
How  tender  'tis — to  love  the  babe — th't  milks  me: 
I  would, — (while  it  was  smiling — in  my /ace,) 
Have  pluck'd  my  nipple — from  its  boneless  gums, 
And  dash'd  the  brains  out, — had  / — so  sworn  as  you 
Have  done — to  this. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  277 

Macb.  If  we  should /ai7, 

Lady  Macb.  We— fail. 

But  screw  your  courage — to  the  stickinc/-Tp\a.ce, 
And  we'll  not  fail.     When  Duncan — is  asleep, — 
(  Whereto — the  rather — shall  his  day's  hard  journey — 
Soundly — itivite  him,) — his  two  chamberlains — 
Will  / — with  wine — and  wassail — so  convince, 
Th't  memory, — (the  warder  of  the  braiti,) 
Shall  be  a  fume, — and  the  receipt  of  reason — 
A  limbeck  only.     When — in  swinish  sleep — 
Their  drenched  natures  lie, — (as  in  a  death,) — 
What — can  not  you — and  / — perform  upon 
The  unguarded — Duncan  ?  what — not  put  upon 
His  spongy  officers;  who  shall  bear  the  guilt — 
Of  our  great  quell  ? 

Macb.  Bring  forth  wien-children — only; 

For  thy — undaunted  mettle — should  compose 
Nothing — but  males.     Will  it  not  be  received, 
(When  we  have  marKd  with  blood  those  sleepy  two — 
Of  his  own  chamber,  and  used  their  very  daggers,) 
Th't  they — have  done  't? 

Lady  Macb.  Who — dares  receive  it — other, 

As  we — shall  make  our  griefs — and  clamor — roar — 
Upon  his  death? 

Macb.  I  am  settled,  and  bend  up — 

Each  corporal  agent — to  this  terrible  feat. 
Away,  and  mock  the  time — with  fairest  show: 
False /ace — must  hide — what  the  false  heart — doth  know.     [^Exeunt. 

Act  II. — Scene  First.     Enter  Banquo  and  Fleance. 

Banquo.    How  goes  the  night, — boy? 

Fleance.    The  moon  is  down ;  (I  have  not  heard  the  clock.) 

Ban.    And  she — goes  down  at  twelve. 

Fie.  I  take 't, — 't  is  later,  sir. 

Ban.    Hold,  take  my  sivord.     There  's  husbandry — in  heaven, 

Their  candles — are  all  otit.     Take  thee  t/iat — too. 

A  heavy  summons — lies  like  lead  upon  me, 

And  yet — I  would  not  sleep.     Merciful  powers, 

Restrain  in  me — the  cursed  thoughts  th't  nature — 

Gives  M>ay  to — \n  repose  I     Give  me — my  sword: —  [^Enter  Macbeth. 

Who  's  there  ? 

Macb.  A  friend. 

Ban.     What, — sir,  not  yet — at  rest  ?    The  king 's  abed : 
He  hath  been — in  unusual  pleasure,  and 
Sent  forth  great  largess — to  j'our  offices. 
This  diamond — he  greets  your  wife  withal, 
By  the  name — of  most  kind  hostess ;  and  shut  up 
In  measureless  content. 

Macb.  Being  unprepared, — 


278  MANUAL  OF   ELOOUTION. 

Our  wiU — became  the  servant — to  defect; 
Which — [else) — should  free  have  wrought. 

Ban.  AW  swell. 

I  dreamt — (last  night)  of  the  three  weird  sisters: 
To  you — they  have  show'd  some — truth. 

Macb.  I — think  not  of  them: 

Yet, — when  we  can  entreat  an  hour — to  serve, 
We  would  spend  it — in  some  words — upon  that  business, 
If  yoii — would  grant  the  time. 

Ban.  At  your  kind'st  leisure. 

Macb.    If  you  shall  cleave — to  my  consent,  when  His, 
It  shall  make  honor  for  you. 

Ban.  So — I  lose  none, 

In  seeking  to  augment  it, — but  still — keep 
My  bosom — franchised, — and  allegiance — clear, 
I  shall  be  counsel d. 

Macb.  Good  repose — (the  while.) 

Ban.    Thanks, — sir ;  the  like — to  you.  [^Exit. 

Macb.    Go,  bid  thy  mistress,  (when  my  drink — is  ready,) 
She  strike  upon  the  bell.     (Get  thee  to  bed.)  [_Exit  servant. 

Is  this — a  dagger  which  I  see — before  me, 
The  handle — toward  my  hand?     Come,  let  me  clutch  thee: 
I  have  thee  not, — and  yet — I  see  thee — still. 
Art  thou  not, — {fatal  vision,)  sensible — 
To  feeling — as  to  sight  ?  or,  art  thou — but 
A  dagger — of  the  mind,  a  false  creation, — 
Proceeding — from  the  /te«i-oppressed  brain? 
I  see  thee — yet, — in  form — as  palpable — 
As  this — which  now — I  draw. 
Thou  marshal st  me — the  way — th't  I  was  going, 
And — such — an  instrument — I  was  to  tise. 
Mine  eyes — are  made  the  fools — o'  the  other  senses, — 
Or  else — worth — aW  the  rest.     I  see  thee — still; 
And — on  thy  blade  and  dudgeon — gouts  of  blood, — 
Which  was  not  so — before.     There 's  no  such  thing. 
It  is — the  bloody — business  which  informs 
Thus — to  mine  eyes.     Now — o'er  the  one  half  world — 
Nature — seems  dead, — and  wicked  dreams — abuse 
The  curtain'd  sleep;  m^cAcraft — celebrates 
Pale  Hecate's  offerings;   and  withered  murder, — 
Alarum' d — by  his  sentinel, — (the  wolf. 
Whose  howls — his  watch,)  thus — with  his  stealthy /)a^e, 
(With  Targuin's — ravishing  strides,)  toward  his  design 
Moves — like -d  ghost.     Thou  sure — and  firm-f-Qi  earth. 
Hear  not — my  steps,  {which  way — they  walk,) — fur  fear — 
The  very  stones— prate — of  my  -wheresCboMi, 
And  take  the  present  horror — from  the  time, 
Which  noiv — suiU  with  it.     Whiles  I— threat — he — lives: 
Words — to  the  heat  of  deeds — too  cold  breath  gives.  [.4  bell  ,ings. 


MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION.  279 

I  go, — and,  it  is  rfowe;  the  bell — invites  me. 

Hear  it  not,  Duncan;  for — it  is  the  hiell — 

Th't  summons  thee — to  heaven,  or — to  hell!  [^Exit. 

Scene  Second.     Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Lady  Macb.  That — which  hath  made  them — drunk — hath  made  me — bold; 
What — hath  quencKd — them — liath  ^jyen  me — -fire.     Hark  I    Peace  I 
It  was  the  owl — th't  shriek'd, — the  fatal — bellman — 
Which  gives  the  stem'st — good  night.     He — is  about  it. 
The  doors — are  open;  and  the  surfeited  grooms — 
Do  mock  their  charge — with  snores.     I — have  drugged — their  possets, 
Th't  death — and  nature — do  contend  about  them, 
Whether  thcj'  live — or — die. 

Macb.  \^Within.']  Who's  there?  what,  ho! 

Lady  Macb.    Alack !  I  am  afraid — they  have  awaked, — 
And  'tis  not  done.     The  attempt, — (and  not  the  deed,) — 
Confounds  us.     Hark!     I  laid  their  daggers — ready; 
He — could  not  miss  them.     Had  he  not  resembled 
My  father — (as  he  slept)  /had  done't.  \_Enier  Macbeth. 

My  husband! 

Macb.    I  have  rfoMe — the  deed.     Did'st  thou  not  hear  a  noise.? 

Lady  Macb.    I  heard  the  owl  scream, — and  the  crickets  cry. 
Did  not  you  speak  ? 

Macb.  When  ? 

Lady  Macb.  Now. 

Macb.  As  I  descended? 

Lady  Macb.    Aye. 

Macb.  Hark ! 

Who — lies  i'  the  second  chamber  ? 

Lady  Macb.  Donalbain. 

Macb.    This — is  a  sorry  sight.  [Looking  on  his  hands. 

Lady  Macb.    A  foolish  thought, — to  say — a  sori'y  sight. 

Macb.    There 's  one — did  laugh — in  his  sleep, — and  one  cried  "  m,urde7'  I  " 
Th't  they  did  wake  each  otJier:  I  stood — and  heard  them: 
But  they  did  say  ihe\T  prayers, — and  address' d  them 
Again — to  sleep. 

Lady  Macb.     There  are  two — lodged  together. 

Macb.    One — cried, — "  Gorf  6iess  us  ! "  and — '■'^  Amen" — the  o^Aer, 
As  they  had  seeii  me, — with  these  hangman! s  hands. 
Listening — their /ear,  / — could  not  say, — amen, 
When  they  did  say, — God  bless  us ! 

Lady  Macb.  Consider  it  not — so  deeply. 

Macb.    But  wherefore — could  not  I — pronounce, — amen? 
I — had  most  need — of  blessing, — and — amen — 
Stuck  in  my  throat. 

Lady  Macb.  These  deeds — must  not  be  thought — 

After  these  ways;  so, — it  will  make  us  mad. 

Macb.    Methought — I  heard  a  voice — cry, — Sleep — no  more! 
Macbeth — does  murder  sleep ;  the  innocent  sleep ; 


280  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

Sleep — th't  knits  up  the  raveVd  sleeve — of  care, — 
The  death — of  each  day's — life, — sore  labor  s  bath, 
Bahn — of  hurt  minds, — great  nature's — second  course, 
Chief  nourisher — in  iifes  feast. 

Lady  Macb.  What — do  you  mean  ? 

Macb.    Still — it  cried, — "  Sleep — no  more ! "  to  all  the  house : 
^^Glamis — hath  tnurder'd  sleep;  and  therefore — Caivdor — 
Shall  sleep — no  m,ore  ;  Macbeth — shall  sleep  no  more!" 

Lady  Macb.     Who  was  it — th't  thus  cried?      Why,  worthy  thane, 
You  do  unbend — your  noble  strength — to  think 
So  brainsickly — of  things.     Go, — get  some  water, — 
And  wash — this  filthy  witness — from  your  hand. 
Why — did  you  bring  these  daggers — from  the  place  ? 
They  must  lie  there.     Go, — carry  them ;  and  smear 
The  sleepy  grooms — with  blood. 

Macb.  I '11  5^0 — no  more  ; 

I  am  afraid — to  think — what — I  have  done: 
Look  on 't — again — I  dare  not. 

Lady  Macb.  Infirm, — of  purpose! 

Give  me — the  daggers.     The  sleeping — and — the  dead — 
Are  but  as  pictures :  't  is  the  eye  of  childhood — 
Th't  fears — a  painted  devil.     If  he — do  bleed, — 
I  '11  gild  the  faces — of  the  grooms  withal ; 
For — it  must  seem — their  guilt.  [Exit.     Knocking  within. 

Macb.  Whence — is  that  knocking? 

How  is  't — with  -me, — when  every  noise — appalls  me  ? 
"What  hands — are  here?     Ha!  they pltcck  out — mine  eyes! 
Will  all  great  Neptune's  ocean — wash — this  blood — 
Clean — ir om  n\y  hand?     No;  this — n-iy  hand — will — rather 
The  multitudinous  seas — incarnadine, 
Making — the  green, — one — red. 

XXX.— KING  HENKY  VIII.    Shakespeark. 

King.    My  life — itself,  and  the  best  heart  of  it, 
Thanks  you — for  this  great  care :  I  stood  i'  the  level 
Of  a  /r(W-charged  confederacy,  and  give  thanks 
To  you — th't  choked  it.     Let  be  called  before  us — 
That  gentleman — of  Buckingham's : — in  2}erson — 
I'll  hear  him — his  confessions  justify ; 
And — (point — by  point) — the  treasons  of  his  master — 
He  shall  again  relate. 
Enter  Queen  Katharine,  with  Duke  of  Norfolk,  etc.     She  kneels.     The  king  rises, 
takes  her  up,  kisses  her,  and  places  her  by  him. 

Queen.    Nay,  we  must  longer  kneel ;  I  am  a  suitor. 

King.    Arise,  and  take  place  by  us.     Half  your  suit^ 
Never  name  to  us ;  you — have  half  our  power; 
The  other  moiety,  (ere  you  ask,)  is  given; 
Repeat  your  will,  and  take  it. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  281 

Queen.  Thank  your  majesty. 

That  you  would  love  yourself ;  and  (in  that  love,) 
Not  unconsidered — leave  your  honor,  nor 

The  dignity — of  your  office, — is  the  point  * 

Of  my  petition.  • 

King.  Lady  mine, — proceed. 

Queen.    I  am  solicited, — [not — by  a  few, 
And  those — of  true  condition,)  th't  your  subjects — 
Are  in  great  grievance  :  there  have  been  commissions 
Sent  down  among  them,  which  have  flawed  the  heart — 
Of  all  their  loyalties: — wherein, — (although,) 
My  good  lord  cardinal,  they  vent  reproaches 
Most  bitterly — on  you,  (as  putter  on 
Of  these  exactions,)  yet  the  king  our  master, 
(Whose  honor — Heaven — shield  from  soil !)  even  he — escapes  not 
Language  unmannerly,  yea, — such — which  breaks 
The  sides  of  loyalty,  and  almost  appears 
In  loud  rebellion. 

Norfolk.  Not — almost  appears. 

It  doth  appear:   for,  (upon  these  taxations,) — 
The  clothiers  all,  (not  able  to  maintain 
The  many — to  them  ^longing,)  have  put  off 
The  spinsters, — carders, — fullers, — weavers, — who, 
(  Unfit — for  other  life,)  compell'd  by  hunger — 
And  lack  of  other  means,  (in  desperate  manner — 
Daring — the  event — to  the  teeth,)  are  all  in  uproar, 
And  Danger — serves  among  them. 

King.  Taxation  ! 

Wherein  ?  and  what  taxation  ?     My  lord  cardinal. 
You — (that  are  blamed  for  it  alike  with  us,) 
Know  you — of  this  taxation  ? 

Wolsey.  Please  you,  sir, 

I  know — but  of  a  single  part,  in  aught — 
Pertains  to  the  state;  and  front — but  in  that  file — 
Where  others — tell  steps  with  me. 

Queen.  No, — (my  lord,) 

You — know  no  more — than  others :  but — you— frame 
Things — th't  are  known — alike,  which  are  not  wholesome 
To  those — which  would  not  know  them, — and  yet — must — 
(^Perforce)  be  their  acrjuaintance.     These  exactions, 
(Whereof  my  sovereign — would  have  note,) — they  are 
"M-osi  pestilent — to  the  hearing;  and  to  bear  them 
The  back — is  sacrifice — to  the  load.     They  say 
They  are  devised — by  you;  or  else  you  suffer — 
Too  hard  an  exclamation. 

King.  Still — exaction. 

The  nature  of  it? — In  what  kind,  (let 's  know,) 
Is  this  exaction? 

Queen.  I  am  much  too  venturoxis — 


282  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

In  tempting — of  your  patience ;  but  am  holden'd — 

Under  j'our  promised  jjardvn.     The  subject's  grief — 

Comes  through  com7nis.sions,  which  compel — (from  each) 

The  sixth  jyart — of  his  substance  to  be  lecied — 

Without  delay;  and — the  pretense  for  this 

Is  named, — your  wars — in  France.     This — makes  bold  nioutlis; 

Tongues — spit  their  duties  out ;  and  cold  hearts — freeze 

Allegiance  in  them  :  their  curses — {now) 

Live — where  t\iQ\v  prayers  did  ;  and — it's  come  to  pass, 

This  tractable  obedience — is  a  slave — 

To  each  incensed  will.     I  would  your  highness — 

Would  give  it  quick  consideration,  for — 

There  is  no  primer  business. 

King.  By  my  life  I 

This — is  against  our  pleasure. 

Wolsey.  And — for  me, 

I  have  no  further  gone  in  this  than  by 
A  single  voice;  and  that — not  passed  me — but 
By  learned  approbation — of  the  judges.     If  I  am 
Traduced — by  ignorant  tongues, — which  neither  know 
M.y  faculties — nor  person, — yet — will  be 
The  chronicles — of  my  doing, — let  me  say — 
'T  is  but  the  fate — of  place, — and  the  rough  brake — 
Th't  virtue — must  go  through.     We  must  not  stint— 
Our  necessary  actions, — in  the  fear — 
To  cope  malicious  censurers;  which — ever, — 
As  ravenous  fishes, — do  a  vessel  follow — 
Th't  is  new-trimmed;  but  benefit — no  further — 
Than  vaijily — longing.     What  we  oft — do  best,' 
By  sick  interjrreters, — (once — weak  ones,)  is 
Not  ours, — or — not  allowed;  whai — worst, — [as  oft)— 
Hitting  a  grosser  quality, — is  cried  up — 
For  our  best  act.     If  we  shall  stand  still. 
In  fear — our  motion — will  be  inocKd  or  carped  at, 
We  should  take  root — here — where  we  sit,  or — sit 
State  statues — only. 

King.  Things — done  well. 

And — with  a  care, — exempt  themselves  from  fear; 
Things — done — without  example, — in  their  issue — 
Are  to  be  feard.     Have  you  a  precedent — 
Of  this  commission?     I  believe — not  any. 
We  must  not  rend — our  subjects — from  our  laws. 
And  stick  them — in  our  will.     Sixth — part — of  each? 
A  trembling — contribution  ?      Why, — we  take — 
(From  every  tree,]  lop,  bark,  and  part  o'  the  limber ; 
And, — though  we  leave  it — with  a  root,  [thus  hack'd) 
The  air — will  drink  the  sap.     To  every  county — 
(Where  this  is  qziesiio7i'd)  send  our  letters,  with 
Free  pardon — to  each  man — th't  has  denied 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  283 

The  jorce — of  this  commission.     Pray, — look  to't; 
I  put  it — to  your  care. 

Wolscy.    \To  the  secretary.']    A  word  with  you. 
Let  there  be  letters  writ — to  every  shire 
Of  the  king's  grcu:e — and  pardon.     The  grieved  commons 
Hardly — conceive  of  nie ;  let  it  be  noised 
Th't — (through  our  intercession)  this  revokement 
Kwd pardon  comes:  I  shall — [ano7i)  advise  you 
Further — in  the  proceeding. 

XXXI.— QUEEN  KATHARINE  ON  TRIAL.    Shakespeare. 

[77i€  Qweew  comes  to  tfie  King,  and  kneels  at  his  feet;  then  speaks.] 
Queen.    Sir, — I  desire  you,— do  me  right — and  justice  ; 
And  to  bestow  your  pity  on  me:  for — 
/ — am  a  most  poor  woman,  and  a  stranger, — 
Born — out  of  your  dominions ;  having — here — 
"No  judge — indifferent, — nor — no  more  assurance 
Of  equal  friendship — and  j^TOceeding.     Alas,  sir, 
In  tvhat — have  I  offended  you?  what  cause — 
Hath  my  behavior — given  to  your  displeasure  ? 
Th't  thtis — you  should  proceed — to  put  me  off, 
And  take  your  good  grace  from  me  ?     Heaven — witness, 
I  have  beeji  to  you — a  true — and  humble  wife. 
At  all  times — to  your  will — conformable : 
Ever — in  fear — to  kindle  your  dislike; 
Yea,  subject — to  your  countenance ;  glad, — or  sorry. 
As  I  saw  it  inclined.      When — was  the  hour 
I  ever — contradicted  your  desire, 

Or  made  it  not  mine — too  ?    Or  which — of  your  friends— 
Have  I  not  strove — to  love, — although  I  knew — 
He  were  mine  enemy  ?      What  friend — of  m.ine — 
That  had — to  him — derived  your  anger, — did  I 
Continue — in  my  liking?     Sir,  call  to  mhid 
Th't  I  have  been  your  wife  (in  this  obedience) 
Upward — of  twenty  years,  and  have  been  bless'd — 
With  many  children  by  you.     If, — in  the  course — 
And  2^Tocess — of  this  time, — you  can  report. 
And  prove  it — too, — against  mine  honor — aught,  • 

My  bond — to  wedlock, — or  my  love — and  duty, 
Against  your  sacred  person, — in  Gods  name, 
Turn  me  away ;  and  let  the  foul'st  contempt — 
Shut  door  upon  me,  and  so — give  me  up 
To  the  sharpest  kind  of  justice.     Please  you,  sir. 
The  king, — (yoiir  father,)  was  reputed  for 
A  prince — most  2ii'iident, — of  an  excellent — 
And  unmatched  wit — And  jttdgment :  Ferdinand, 
My  father, — {king  of  Spain,)  was  reckoned  one 
The  wisest  prince, — th't  there  bad  reign  d — by  many 


284  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION 

A  year  before.     It  is  not  to  be  question'd 

Th't  they  had  gather'd  a  wise  council  to  them 

Of  every  realm,  th"t  did  debate  this  business, 

Who  deeni'd  our  marriage — lawful.     Wherefore — I  humbly 

Beseech  you,  sir, — to  spare  me,  till  I  may 

Be — by  my  friends — (in  Spain) — advis'd;  whose  counsel 

I  will  implore ;  if  not,  i'  the  natne — of  God, — 

Your  pleasure — be  fulfilled ! 

Wolsey.  You  have  here,  {lady,) 

(And — of  your  choice,)  these  reverend  fathers;  men — 
Of  singular — integrity — and  learning. 
Yea,  the  elect — of  the  land,  who  are  asseinbled — 
To  plead  your  cause.     It  shall  be  therefore  bootless, 
Th't  longer — you  desire  the  court;  as  well — 
For  your  own  quiet  as  to  rectify — 
What  is  unsettled — in  the  king. 

Campeius.  His  grace — 

Hath  spoken  M;e^^, — andJMs%;  therefore,  (madam,) — 
It's  fit — this  royal  session — do  proceed; 
And  th't,  (without  delay,)  their  arguments — 
Be  now  produced — and  heard. 

Queen.  Lord  cardinal, — 

To  you — I  speak. 

Wolsey.  Your  2^l6asure, — madam? 

Queen.  Sir, — 

I  am  about  to  weep;  but,  thinking  th't 
We  are  a  queen,  (or  long — have  drearn'd  so.)  certain 
The  daughter — of  a  king, — my  drops — of  tears — 
I'll  turn — to  sparks — o?  fire. 

Wolsey.  Be  patient — yet. 

Queen.    I  will,  when  you — are  humble;  nay, — before, 
Or  God — -^^'\\\  jninish  me.     I  do  believe, 
{Induced — by  potent  circumstances,)  that 
You — are  mine  enemy ;  and  make  my  challenge — 
You  shall  not — be  my  judge :  for  it  is  you — 
Have  blown  this  coal  betwixt  my  lord — and  me, 
(Which  Gods  dew — quench!)     Therefore  I  say  again, 
I  utterly — abhor, — yea,  from  my  soul — 
Refuse  you — for  my  judge:  whom,  yet — (once  more,) — 
I  hold — my  most  malicious  foe, — and  think  not — 
(At  all) — a  friend  to  truth. 

Wolsey.  I  do  pj'of ess, 

You  speak  not — like  yourself;  who  ever — yet — 
Have  stood  to  charity, — and  display'd  the  effects — 
Of  disposition  gentle, — and  of  wisdom — 
O'ertopping — woman's  power.     Madam, — you  do  me  wrong: 
I  have  no  spleen — against  yoti;  nor  injustice — 
For  you,—ov  any:  how  far — I  have  proceeded, 
Or — how  far^urther  shall,  is  warranted — 


MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION.  285 

By  a  commission — from  the  consistory, 

Yea,  the  ichole  consistory — of  Rome.     You  charge  me— 

Th't  /  have  blown  this  coal :  I  do  deny  it: 

The  king — is  present :  if  it  be  known  to  him — 

Th't  I  gainsay  my  deed, — how  may  he  wound,— 

(And  worthily,)  my  falsehood?  yea,  as  much — 

As  you — have  done  my  truth.     If  he  knoio — 

Th't  I  am  free — of  your  report, — he  knows 

I  am  not — of  your  wrong.     Therefore  in  him, 

It  lies — to  cure  me:  and  the  cure  is, — to 

Remove  these  thoughts  from  you :  the  ivhich — before 

His  highness — shall  speak  in,  I  do  beseech 

You,  (gracious  madam) — to  unthink — your  speaking, — 

And  to  say  so — no  more. 

Queen.  My  lord, — my  lord, — 

I  am  a  simple  woman, — much — too  iveak — 

To  oppose  your  cunning.     You're  meek — and  humble-mouthed; 
You  sign  your  j)lace — and  calling — (in  full  seeming) 
With  meekness — and  humility:  but  your  heart — 
Is  cramm'd  with  arrogancy, — spleen,  and  pride. 
You  have,  (by  fortune — and  his  highness'  favors,) — 
Gone  slightly — o'er  low  steps;  and  now — are  mounted 
"Where /lowers — are  your  retainers;  and  your  words, — 
[Domestics  to  you,)  serve  your  will — as  't  please 
Yourself — pronounce  their  office.     I  must  tell  you, — 
You  tender  more — yo\xv  person's  honor  than 
Your  \i\gh.profession  spiritual;  th't  again — 
I  do  refuse  you — for  my  judge ;  and  here, 
(Before  you  all,)  appeal — unto  the  pope. 
To  bring  my  whole  cause — 'fore  his  holiness, 
And  to  hejudg'd — by  him. 

l_She  courtesies  to  the  King,  and  offers  to  depart. 

Cam,.  The  queen — is  obstinate^ 

Stubborn — io  justice, — apt — to  accuse  it,  and 
Disdainful — to  be  tried  by  it ;  't  is  not  ivell. 
She 's  going  away. 

King.  Call  her  again. 

Crier.    Katharine, — (queen  of  England,) — come  into  the  court. 

Grif.    Madam — you  are  call'd  back. 

Queen.    What  need  you — note  it  ?  pray  you,  keep  your  way  : 
When  you  are  call'd  return.     Now — the  Lord  help; 
They  vex  me — past  my  patience  I    Pray  you, — pass  on : — 
I  will  not  tarry:  no,  nor  ever — more — 
(Upon  this  business) — my  appearance  make 
In  any — of  their  courts.  [Exeunt  Queen,  Griffith,  etc. 

King.  Go  thy  ways, — Kate : 

That  man — i'  the  world  who  shall  report  he  has 
A  better  wife, — let  him — in  7ioiight — be  trusted, 
For  speaking  false — in  that.     Thou  art,  alone, 


286  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

If  thy  rare  qualities, — sweet  gentleness, — 

Thy  meekness — saint-\\k.e, — wifeAika  government, — 

Obeying — in  commanding, — and  thy  parts — 

(Sovereign — and  pious — else,) — could  speak  thee  out. 

The  QUEEN — of  earthly  queens.     She's  noble — born; 

And,  (like  her  true  nobility,)  she  has 

Carried  herself  toward  me. 

XXXII.— THE  AKAB'S  FAKEWELL  TO  HIS  STEED.     Mrs.  Norton. 

My  beautifid  !  my  beautifid  ! 

That  standest  meekly  by, 
"With  thy  proudly-arcAerf — and  glossy  neckj 

Thy  dark — and  Jiery  eye, — 
Fret  not — to  roam  the  desert — now, 

With  all  thy  winged  speed ; 
I  may  not  mount  on  thee — again : 

Thou'rt  sold, — ^my  Ar^ab  steed/ 

Fret  not — with  that  impatient  hoof; 

Sniiff  not — the  breezy  wind; 
The  farther  th't  thou  fliest — now, 

So  far — am  / — behind. 
The  stranger — hath  thy  bridle-rein. 

Thy  master — hath  his  gold  : 
jP^ee^-limbed — and  beautiful — farewell ! 

Thou'rt  sold,  (my  steed,)  thou'rt  soldi 

Farewell  I  those  free — untired  limbs 

Full  many  a  mile — must  roam, 
To  reach  the  chill — and  wintry  sky, 

Which  clouds — the  stranger's  home : 
Some  other  hand, — less  fond,  must  now 

Thy  corn — and  bread — prepare ; 
Thy  silky  mane — /  braided — once 

Must  be  another's  care. 

The  morning  sun — shall  daiun  again; 

But  never — more  with  thee 
Shall  /gallop — through  the  desert  paths, 

Where  we — were  wont  to  be. 
Evening — shall  darken — on  the  earthy 

And  o'er  the  sandy  plain 
Some  other  steed,  with  slower  step, 

Shall  bear  me  home  again. 

Yes,  thou  must  go  I  the  wild — free  breeze. 

The  brilliant  su7i  and  sky, 
Thy  master's  house, — from  all  of  these 

My  exiled  one — must  fly. 
Thy  proud — dark  eye — will  grow  less  proud, 

Thy  step — become  less  fleet. 
And  vainly — shalt  thou  arch  thy  neck 

Thy  master's  hand — to  meet. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION,  287 

Only — in  sleep — shall  I  behold 

That  dark  eye — glancing  bright; 
Otdy — in  sleep — shall  hear  again 

That  step — so  firm — and  light ; 
And  when  I  raise — my  dreaming  arm 

To  check — or  cheer — thy  speed, 
Then  must  I,  [starting^)  wake — to  feel — 

Thou'rt  sold, — my  Arab  steed! 

Ah,  rudely  then,  unseen  by  me, 

Some  cruel  hand — may  chide 
Till  /oam- wreaths  lie,  (like  crested  waves,) 

Along  thy  panting  side; 
And  the  rich  blood  th't  's  in  thee  swells 

In  the  indignant  pain, 
Till  careless  eyes  (which  rest  on  thee) 

May  count — each  starting  vein. 

Will  they  ill  use  thee?     If  I  thought — 

But  no,  it  can  not  be, — 
Thou  art  so  swift,  yet  easy  curbed, 

So  gentle,  yet  so  free. 
And  yet  if  haply,  when  thou'rt  gone, 

My  lonely  heart — should  yearn, 
Can  the  same  hand  which  casts  thee  off 

Command  thee — to  return  ? 

Return?    Alas!  my  Ar&h  steed. 

What — shall  thy  master  do 
When  thou,  (who  wert  his  all  of  joy,) 

Hast  vanished — from  his  view  ? 
Where  the  dim  distance — cheats  mine  eye^ 

And  (through  the  gathering  tears) 
Thy  bright  form  (for  a  moment)  like 

The  false  mirage — appears. 

Slow  and  unmounted — will  I  roam. 

With  weary  foot  alone. 
Where,  (with  fleet  step — and  joyous  bound,) 

Thou  oft — hast  borne  me  on; 
And,  (sitting  down — by  that  green  well,) 

Will  pause  and  sadly  think, 
'T  was  here — he  bowed — his  glossy  neck 

When  last — I  saw  him  drink. 

When  last — I  saw  him — drink !     Away  ? 

The  fevered  dream — is  o'er; 
I  could  not  live  a  day — and  know — 

That  we  should  meet — no  more. 
They  tempted  me, — my  beautiful! 

For  hunger's  power — is  strong ; 
They  tempted  me, — my  beautiful ! 

But  I  have  loved — too  long. 


288  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Who  said — tli't  I  had  given  thee  up  ? 

Who  said — th't  thou  wert  sold? 
'T  is  false!  't  is  false!  my  Arab  steed! 

I  flinff  thorn  back — their  gold. 
Thus, — THUS — I  leap — upon  thy  back, 

And  sco7ir — the  distant  plains  : 
Away!  who — overtakes  us — now 

Shall  claim  thee — for  hia pains! 


XXXIII.— SONG  OF  THE  WOKLD— MONEY-MAKING.    M asset. 

Coining  the  heart,  brain,  and  sineiv  [to  gold,) 

Till  we  si7ik — (in  the  dark)  on  the  pauperis  dole, 
Feeling — (for  ever) — the  flowerless  mold 

Growing — about  the  uncrowned  soul ! 
O  God!  O  God!  must  this — [evermore) — be 
The  lot — of  the  children  of  poverty  ? 

The  sprijig — is  calling  from  brae — and  bower,, 

In  the  twinkling  sheen — of  the  sunny  hour, 
Earth  smiles — in  her  golden — green; 
Glad — as  the  bird — in  tree-to^) — chanting 

Its  anthem — of  liberty ! 
"With  its  heart — in  its  musical  gratitude  panting, 

And  oh,  't  is  a  bliss — to  be ! 
Once  more — to  drink  in — the  it/e-breathing  air, 

Lapt — in  luxurious  flowers — 
To  recall  again — the  pleasures — that  were 

In  infancy's — innocent  hours, — 
To  wash  the  ear^A-stains — and  the  dust — from  my  soul 

In  nature's  reviving  tears  once  more; 
To  feast — at  her  banquet, — and  drink — -from  her  bowl — 

Rich  dew — for  the  hearts  hot  core. 
Ah  me !  ah  me !  it  is  heavenly — then, 

And  hints — of  the  spi;'i^-world, — (near — alway,) 
Are  stirring — and  stirred  at  my  heai-t  again. 

Like  leaves — to  the  kiss — of  May  : 
It  is — but  a  dream, — yet — 't  is  passing  sweet. 

And  when — (from  its  spells) — mj^  spirit — is  waking, 
Dark — as  my  heart,  and  the  wild  tears  start ; 

For  I — was  not  made — (merely) — for  money-Toaakmg. 

My  soul — ^leaneth  out — to  the  whisperings 

Of  the  mighty, — the  marvelous  spirits — of  old; 
And  heaven-wavA  soareth — to  strengthen  her  wings, 

When  labor — reJapseth — its  earthly  \\o\^; 
And — [breathless — with  awfullest  beauty) — it  listens — 

To  catch  the  nights — deep, — starry  mystery ; 
Or  in  mine  eyes,  [dissolved,)  glistens 

Big — for  the  moan — of  humanity. 


MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION.  289 

Much — tliat  is  written — within  its  chamber, 
Much — th't  is  shrined — in  the  mind's  living  amber, 

Much — of  this  thought  of  mine. 
There's  music  bdow — in  the  glistening  leaves, 
There  's  music  above, — and  heaven's  blue  bosom  heaves 

The  silvery  clouds  between  ; 
The  boughs  of  the  woodland — are  nodding — (\n  play,) 
And  wooingly — beckon  my  spirit  away ; — 

I  hear — the  dreamy  hum 
Of  bees — in  the  /i/ne-tree,  and  birds — on  the  spray ; 
And  they — (too) — are  calling  my  thinking  away; 

But  I  can  not — can  not  come. 
Vision — of  verdant — and  heart-cooYxng  places — 

Will  steal  on  my  soul — like  a  golden  spring-r&m^ 
Bringing  the  lost  light — of  brave — vanish'd  faces, 

Till  all  my  life — blossoms  with  beauty  again. 
But  oh,  for  a  glimpse — of  the  j'Zower-laden  morning, 

Th't  makes  the  heart — leap  up,  and  knock  at  heaverHs  door ! 
Oh,  for  the  green  lane,  the  green  field,  the  green  wood. 

To  take  i«  (by  hcnrtfuls)  their  greenness — once  more ! 
How  I  yearn — to  lie  down — in  the  lush-flower'd  meadows, 
And  nestle — in  leaves — and  the  sleep — of  the  shadows. 

Where  violets — (in  the  cool  gloom) — are  awaking. 
There — let  my  soul — hurst — from  its  cavern  of  clay, 
To  float  down  the  warm  spring, — away — and  away! 

For  I — was  not  made  (merely)  for  wiowey-making. 

At  my  wearisome  task — I  oftentimes — turn 

From  my  bride  and  my  wearisome  nionitress — [Duty,) 
Forgetting  the  strife — and  the  wrestle  of  life, 

(To  talk — with  the  spirit  of  beauty.) 
The  multitude's  hum,  and  the  chinking  of  gold, 

Grow  hush — as  the  dying  day, — 
For — on  wings — (pulsing  music,)  with  joy  untold. 

My  heart — is  icp — and  away ! 
I  fain  would  struggle — and  give  to  birth  ; 
For  I  would  not  pass  away  from  earth — 

And  make  no  sign! 
I  yearn  to  utter — what  might  live  on 
In  the  world's  heart  when  I  am  gone. 
I — would  not  plod  on  (like  these  slaves  of  gold, 

Who  shut  up  their  souls  in  a  dusky  cave:) 
I  would  see  the  world  better  and  nobler-sonV A, 

Ere  I  dream  of  heaven — in  my  green  i\\Y?-grave. 
I  may  toil  till  my  life — is  fill'd  with  dreariness, — 
Toil — 'till  my  heart — is  a  wreck  in  its  weariness. 
Toil — for  ever  for  /ea?'-steep'd  bread, 
Till  I  go  down — to  the  silent  dead. 
Btit — by  this  yearning, — this  hojnng, — this  aching, 
I — was  not  made  merely — for  money-making, 

19 


290  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

XXXIV.— MY  BELOVED  IS  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.     Massey. 

Heaven — hath  its  crown  of  stars,  the  earth 

Her  glory-rohe — of  Jiowers, — 
The  sea — its  gems, — the  grand  old  woods 

Their  songs — and  greening  showers : 
The  birds — have  homes, — where  leaves  and  blooms — 

In  beauty — wreathe  above; 
High — yearning  hearts — their  rainbow — dreams, — 

And  we,  (sweet,)  we — have  love. 

"We  walk  not — with  the  jewel'd  great, 

Where  love's  dear  name — is  sold; 
Yet — have  we  wealth — we  would  not  give — 

Eor  all — their  world — of  gold! 
We — revel  not — in  corn — and  wine, — 

Yet — have  we — (from  above) — 
Manna — divine, — and — we  '11  not  pine  : 

Do  we  not  live — and  love  ? 

There's  sorroiv — for  the  toiling  poor, 

On  misery's  bosom — nurs'd; 
Eich  robes — for  ragged  souls, — and  crowns 

For  branded  brows — Cai/i-curs'd  ! 
But  cherubim,  (with  clasping  ivings,) 

Ever — about  us  be, 
And  happiest — of  God's  happy  things, 

There 's  love — for  you — and  me. 

Thjj^  lips,  (th't  kiss — till  death,)  have  turn'd 

Life's  water — into  wine  ; 
The  sweet  life — (melting — through  thy  looks) 

Hath  made  my  life — divine. 
All — love's  dear  promise — hath  been  Jcrpt 

Since  thou — to  me — wert  given  ; 
A  ladder — for  my  soid  to  climb. 

And  summer  high — in  heaven. 

I  know, — (dear  heart!)  th't — (in  our  lot,) 

May  mingle — tears — and  sorroiv ; 
But — love's — rich  rainbow 's  built  from  tears — 

To-day,  with  smiles — to-mor7'ow. 
The  srinshine — from  our  sky — may  die, — 

The  greenness — from  life's  tree, — 
But  ever — ('mid  the  warring  storm,) 

Thy  nest — shall  shelter' d  be. 

I  see  thee !    Arrarat — of  my  life, 

Smiling — the  waves  above  ! 
Thou  hail'st  me — victor — in  the  strife, 

And  beacon' st  me — with  kme; 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  291 

The  world — may  7iever  know, — (dear  heart,) 

What — I  have  found — in  thee ; 
But,  tho'  naught — to  the  world,  [dear  heart,) 

Thou  'rt  all — the  woi-ld — to  me. 


XXXV.— GOD'S  WORLD  IS  WORTHY  BETTER  MEN.    Masset. 

Behold,  an  idle  tale — they  tell, 

And  who — shall  blame  their  telling  it? 
The  rogues — have  got  their  cant — to  sell, 

The  world — pays  well — for  selling  it ! 
They  say — the  world 's  a  desert  drear, — 

Still — plagued — with  Egypt's  blindness  I 
Th't  we  were  sent — to  suffer  here ; — 

What  I  by  a  God  of  kindness  ? 
Th't — since  the  world — has  gone  astray^ 

It  must  be  so  for  ever, — 
And  we  should  stand  still,  and  obey — 

Its  desolators.     Never ! 
We  '11  labor  for  the  better- time 

With  all  our  might — of  press — and^en; 
Believe  me,  't  is  a  truth  sublime, 

God's  world — is  worthy — better  men. 

With  Paradise — the  world  began, 

A  world  of  love — and  gladness : 
Its  beauty — may  be  marrd — by  man — 

With  all  his  crime — and  madness, — 
Tet — 't  is  a  brave  world — still.     Love — brings 

A  sunshine — for  the  dreary  ; 
With  all  our  strife — sweet  rest — hath  wings— < 

To  fold  o'er  hearts — &-weary. 
The  sun — in  glory,  (like  a  god,) 

To-day — climbs  up — heaven's  bosom, — 
The  flowers — (upon  the  jewel'd  sod) 

In  sweet  iore-lessons — blossom, 
As  radiant — of  immortal  youth —  ^ 

And  beauty — as  in  Eden;  then 
Believe  me,  't  is  a  noble  truth, 

Gods  world — is  worthy  better  men. 

Oh, — they  are  bold — knaves, — o«er-bold, 

Who  say — we  are  doom'd  to  anguish : 
Th't  man, — (in  God's  own  image — souVd,) 

Like  hell-bound  slaves — vfiust  languish. 
Probe  nature's  heart — to  its  red  core, 

There  's  more  of  good — than  evil; 
And  man, — c?oi«ra-tramp]ed  man, — is  more 

Of  angel — than  of  devil. 


292  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

"Prepare — to  die?"     Prepare  to  live! 

"We  know  not — what  is — living : 
And  let  us — (for  the  world's  good) — give, 

As  God — is  eve7-  giving. 
Give  action, — thought, — love, — wealth, — and  tivM, 

To  win  the  prim,al  age — again ; 
Believe  me, — H  is  a  truth — sublime, 

God's  world — is  v)orthy — better  men. 

XXXVI.— THE  FOUK  EKAS  OF  HUMAN  LIFE.     Kogers. 

The  lark — has  sung  his  carol — in  the  sky; 

The  bees — have  hummed — their  «oo?z-tide  harmony; 

Still — in  the  vale — the  village-\)e\\?, — ring  round; 

Still — in  Lleioellyn-'haW — the  jests — resound : 

For  noiv — the  caudle-c\np — is  circling  there, 

Now — (glad  at  heart) — the  gossips — breathe  their  ^rayej". 

And — [crowding,)  stop  the  cradle — to  admire 

The  babe, — the  sleeping  image — of  his  sire. 

Afeio — sJiort  years,  and  the7i — these  sounds — shall  hail 
The  day  again, — and  gladness — fill  the  vale; 
So  soon — the  cJdld — a  youth, — the  youth — a  man, 
Eager — to  run  the  race — his  father  ran. 
The7i — the  huge  ox — shall  yield — the  broad  surloin; 
The  ale, — [new  brewed,) — in  floods  of  amber  shine; 
And — (basking — in  the  chimney^s  ample  blaze,) 
Mid  many  a  tale — told  of  his  cldldish  days. 
The  'nurse  shall  cry, — (of  all  her  ills — beguiled,) 
"  'T  was  on  these  knees — he  sat  so  oft, — and  smiled." 

And  now — again — shall  music — swell  the  breeze; 
Soon, — (issuing  forth,)  shall  glitter — (through  the  trees)— 
Vestures — of  nuptial  ivhite  ;  and  hymns  be  sung, 
And  violets — scattered  round ;  and  old — and  young, — 
In  every — co^te^'e-porch, — [yiWn.  garlands  green,) 
Stand  still — to  gaze, — and — [gazing) — bless  the  scene; 
"While,  (her  dark  eyes — downcast,) — by  his  side, — 
Moves, — (in  virgin  veil,)  the  gentle  bride. 

And  once, — alas  !  nor — in  a  distant  hour, 
Another  voice  shall  come — from  yonder  tower ; 
"When — (in  dim  chambers) — long  black  weeds  are  seen, 
And  weepings  heard — where  on\y  joy — has  been; 
"When — (by  his  children  borne,)  and — from  his  door — 
Slowly  departing, — to  return — no  more, 
He  rests — in  holy  earth — with  tJiem — tli't  went  before. 

XXXVII.— LOCH   KATRINE.     Walter  Scott. 

Onward — (amid  the  copse  'gan  peep) 
A  narrow  inlet — still — and  deep  ! 
Allowing  scarce — such  breadth  of  brim 
As  served  the  wild  duck's  brood — to  swim : 


MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION.  293 

Lost — (for  a  space,)  through  thickets  veering, 

But  broader — when  again  appearing. 

Tall  rocks — and  tufted  knolls — their  face 

Could — (on  the  dark  mirror)  trace! 

And  farther — (as  the  hunter  stray 'd) — 

Still  broader  sweep — its  channels  made. 

The  shaggy  mounds — no  longer  stood 

Emerging — from  the  tangled  wood, 

But — (wave-encircled,)  seemed  to  float 

Like  castle — girdled  with  its  moat; 

Yet  broader  floods — (extending  still) — 

Divide  them — from  their  parent  hill, — 

Till  each, — (retiring,) — claims  to  be 

An  islet — in  an  inland  sea ! 

And  now, — (to  issue — from  the  glen,) 

No  pathway — meets  the  wanderer's  ken,— 

Unless  he  climb, — with  footing  nice, 

A  far-projecting  precipice! 

The  broom's  tough  roots — his  ladder  made, 

The  hazle  saplings — lent  their  aid; 

And  thus — an  airy  point  he  won, 

Where, — (gleaming — with  the  setting  sun,) 

One  burnished  sheet — of  living  gold. 

Lock  Katrine  lay — beneath  him  rolled ! 

In  all  her  length — (far  winding)  lay — 

With  promontory, — creek, — and  bay, — 

And  islands — th't,  (empurpled  bright 

rioated — amid  the  livelier  light; 

And  mountains — th't — (like  giants  stand) 

To  sentinel — enchanted  land. 

High — (on  the  south)  huge  Ben-venue — 

Down  to  the  lake — (in  masses)  threw 

Crags, — knolls, — and  mounds  confusedly — hurled, 

The  fragments — of  an  earlier  world. 

A  wildering  forest — feathered  o'er 

His  ruined  sides — and  summit  hoar. 

While — (on  the  north,)  through  middle  air,— 

Ben-an  heaved  high — his  forehead  bare. 

XXXVIIL— KEVENGE :  FOSCAKI,  THE  DOGE  OF  VENICE.    Rogers. 

Let  us  lift  up  the  curtain, — and  observe 

What  passes — in  that  chamber.     Now — a  sigh, — 

And  now — a  groan — is  heard.     Theii — all — is  still. 

Twenty — are  sitting — as  in  judgment — there ; 

Men — who  have  served  their  country, — and  grown  gray — 

In  governments — and  distant  embassies; — 

Men — eminent — alike — in  v)ar — and  peace ; 

Such — as — (in  effigy) — shall  long — adorn 


*►/ 


294  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

The  walls  of  Venice — to  shoio — what  she  was. 
Their  gaj'b — is  black, — and  black — the  arras  is, — 
And  sad — the  general  aspect.     Yet  their  looks — 
Are  calm — and  cheerful, — nothing  there — Vike  grief , 
Nothing — or  harsh — or  cruel.     Still — that  noise, 
Th't  low — and  dismal  moaning. 

Half  withdrawn, — 
(A  little  to  the  left,) — sits  one — in  crimson, — 
A  venerable  man, — fourscore — and  five. 
Cold  drops  of  sweat — stand  on  his  furrowed  brow; 
His  hands — are  clenched;  his  eyes — hsAi-shut  and  glazed; 
His  shrunk — and  withered  limbs — rigid — as  marble. 
'T  is  FoscARi, — the  Doge.     And  there  is  one, — 
(A  young  man,) — lying — at  his  feet,  stretched  out 
In  torture.     'T  is  his  son.     'T  is  Giacomo, — 
His  only  jo?/, — (and  has  he — lived  for  this?) 
Accused — of  murder.     Yesternight — the  proofs, — 
{li  proofs — they  be,)  were  in  the  lion^s  mouth 
Dropt — by  some  hand  unseen;  and — he — [himself) 
Must  sit — and  look — on  a  beloved  son — 
Suffering — the  question. 

Twice — to  die  in  peace, — 
To  save, — (while  yet  he  could,) — a  falling  house, — 
And  turn  the  hearts — of  his  fell  adversaries, — 
Those — who  had  now, — (like  hell-hounds — in  full  cry^) 
Chased  down  his  last — of  four :  twice — did  he  ask 
To  lay  aside  the  crown, — and  they — refused, — 
An  oath  exacting, — never — more — to  ask : 
And  there — he  sits, — a  spectacle  of  woe, — 
Condemned, — (in  bitter  mockery,)  to  loear 
The  bauble — he  had  sighed  for. 

Once — again — 
The  screw — is  turned ;  and  as  it  turns  the  son 
Looks  up, — and  (in  a  faint — and  broken  tone) 
Murmurs — "  My  father ! "     The  old  man — shrinks  back,- 
And — (in  his  m,antle)  muffles  up  his  face. 
"Art  thou  not  guilty'?"  says  a  voice — th't  once — 
"Would  greet  the  sufferer — [long  before  they  met,)  — 
^^Art  thou — not  guilty?" — "  No  !     Indeed, — I  am  not!" 
But  all — is  unavailing.     In  that  court — 
Groans — are  confessions ;  patience, — fortitude, — 
The  Avork  of  magic :  and — released, — revived — 
Tor  condemnation — from  his  father's  lips, — 
He  hears — the  sentence, — '■'■Banishment — to  Candia. 
Death — if  he  leaves  it."     And  the  bark — sets  sail, 
And  he  is  gone — from  all  he  loves — in  life  ! 
Gone — in  the  dead  of  night — unseen — of  any, — • 
"Without  a  word, — a  look  of  tenderness. 
To  be  called  up — when, — (in  his  lonely  hours,) 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  295 

He  would  indulge  in  weeping.     Like  a  gJio^t, — 

(Day — after  day, — year — after  year,) — he  haunts 

An  ancient  ramjmrt — th't  o'crhangs  the  sea; 

Gazing  on  vacancy, — and  hourly — tliere 

(Starting — as  from  some  wild — and  uncouth  dream) 

To  answer  to  the  watch.     Alas!  how  changed — 

(From  him,) — the  mirror — of  the  youth  of  Venice  ; 

Whom — (in  the  slightest  thing,) — or  whim, — or  chance, — 

Did  he  but  wear  his  doublet — so — and  so, 

All  followed:  at  whose  nuptials, — when  he  won 

That  maid — at  once — the  noblest, — -fairest, — best, — 

A  daugliter  of  the  house — tli't  now, — (among 

Its  ancestors — in  monumental  brass,) 

Numbers  eight  Doges, — to  convey  her  home — 

The  i?«-centaur — wont  forth;  and  thrice — the  sun — 

Shone  on  the  chivalry — th't  front — to  front, — 

And  blaze — on  blaze — reflecting, — met — and  ranged. 

To  tourney — in  St.  Mark's.     But  lo !  at  last — 

Messengers — come.     He  is  recalled  :  his  heay'i — 

Leaps — at  the  tidings.     He  embarks :  the  boat 

Springs  to  the  oar, — and  back  again — he  goes — 

Into  that  very  chamber!     There — to  lie 

In  his  old  res^iw^-place, — the  bed  of  steel ; 

And  thence — look  up — (five  long — lo)ig  years  of  grief — 

Have  not  killed  either)  on  his  wretched  si7-e, — 

Still  in  that  seat — as  though  he  had  not  stirred; 

Immovable — and  muffled  in  his  cloak. 

But  now — he  comes — convicted  of  a  crime — 
Great — by  the  laws  of  Vexice.     Night — and  day — 
Brooding — on  what  he  had  been, — what  he  was, — 
'T  was  mo7'e — than  he  could  bear.     His  longing  fits 
Thickened  upon  him.     His  desire — for  Aome 
Became  a  madness ;  and  (resolved  to  go — 
If  but  to  die,) — in  his  despair, — he  writes 
A  letter — to  the  sovereign  prince  of  Milan, 
(To  him — whose  name — among  the  greatest  now — 
Had  perished, — blotted  out — at  once — and  razed — 
But  for  the  rugged  limb — of  an  old  oak), 
Soliciting  his  influence — with  the  state, — 

And  drops  it — to  be  found "  Would  ye  know  all  ? 

I  have  transgressed, — off'ended  wiUfutly ; 
And  am  prepared  to  suffer — as  I  ought. 
But  let  me, — let  me,  if  but  for  an  hour, — 
(Ye  m,ust  consent, — for  all  of  you — are  sons,—" 
Most  of  you  husbands — fathers,)  let  me — -Jirst 
Indulge  the  natural  feelings — of  a  man, — 
And  (ere  I  die, — if  such — my  sentence  be,) — 
Press  to  my  heart, — ('t  is  all — I  ask  of  you,) 
My  wife, — my  children, — and  my  aged  mothers- 
Say,  is  she  yet — alive  ?  " 


296  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

He  is  condemned 
To  go — ere  set  of  sun, — go — whence  he  came, — 
A  banished  man,  and  for  a  year — to  breathe 
The  vapor — of  a  dungeon.     But  his  ■prayer — 
(What  could  they  Icss'^)  is  granted. 

In  a  hall — 
Open — and  croivded — by  a  common  herd, — 
'T  was  there — a  wife — and  her  four  sons — yet  young, — 
A  mother — borne  along, — life — ebbing  fast, 
And  an  old  Doge, — mustering  his  strength — in  vain, — 
Assembled  now — (sad  jyrivilege !)  to  meet 
One — so  long  lost,  one — who — for  them — had  braved, 
For  them — had  sought — death, — and  yet  worse  than  death ! 
To  meet  him, — and  to  part  with  him — forever  ! 
Time — and  their  wrongs — had  changed  them  all, — him — most! 
Yet — when  the  wife, — the  mother — looked  again, 
"T  was  he, — 'twas  he  himself, — 'tjvas  Giacomo! 
And  all  clung  round  him, — weeping — bitterly  ; 
Weeping  the  tnore — because  they  wept  in  vain. 

Unnerved, — and  now — unsettled  in  his  mind — 
From  long — and  exquisite /)am, — he  sobs — and  cries, — 
Kissing  the  old  man's  cheek, — "  Help  me, — my  father ! 
Let  me, — (I  pray  thee,)  live  once  more — among  ye: 
Let  me  go  home."     "  My  son," — (returns  the  Doge,) — 
"  Obey.     Thy  country — wills  it." 

Giacomo 
That  night — embai'ked;  sent — to  an  early  ^rare — 
For  one, — whose  dying  words, — "The  deed — was — mine! 
He — is  most  innocent !     'T  was  / — who  did  it !  " 
Came — when  he — slept  in  peace.     The  ship  (th't  sailed 
Swift  as  the  winds — with  his  deliverance) — 
Bore  back — a  lifeless  corpse.     Generous — as  brave, — 
Affection, — kindness, — the  sweet  offices 
Of  duty — and  love — were — (from  his  tenderest  years) 
To  hifn — as  needful — as  his  daily  bread; 
And — to  become  a  by-word — in  the  streets, — 
Bringing  a  stain — on  those — who  gave  him  life, 
And  those — alas!  now — worse — than  fatherless ; — 
To  be  proclaimed  a  ruffian, — a  night-sinhhuT ; — 
He — on  whom  none — before — had  breathed  reproach, — 
He  lived — but  to  disprove  it.     That  hope — lost, — 
Death  followed.     Oh  !  \?  justice — be  in  heaven, 
A  day  m,ust  come — of  ample  retribution  ! 

Then — was  thy  cup, — [old  man,)— full — to  the  brim, 
But  thou  wert  yet^alive ;  and  there  was  07te, — 
The  sold — and  spring — of  all  that  enmity, — 
Who  would  not  leave  thee;  fastening  on  ihy  flank, — 
Hungering — and  thirsting — still — unsatisfied ; 
One — of  a  name — illustrious — as  thine  own  1 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  297 

One — of  the  ten!  one  of  the  invisible  three! 

'T  was  SoREDANO.     When  the  whelps — were  gone, — 

He — would  dislodge  the  lioti — from  his  den; 

And  (leading  on  the  ^jacA; — he  lonff  had  led, — 

The  miserable  pack — th't  ever  howled — 

Against  fallen  greatness,)  moved — that  Foscarif— 

Be  Doge — no  longer ;  urging  his  great  age; 

Calling  the  loneliness  of  grief — neglect 

Of  duty, — sullenness — against  the  laws. 

"  I  am  most  willing — to  retire,"  said  he ; 

"  But  I  have  swor7i, — and  can  not — of  myself. 

Do  with  nic — as  ye  please."     He  was  deposed, 

He — who  had  reigned  so  long — and  gloriously; 

His  ducal  bonnet — taken  from  his  brow, — 

His  robes  stript  off", — his  seal — and  signet-v'ing — 

Broken — before  him.     But  now — nothing — moved 

The  meekness — of  his  soul.     All  things — alike  I 

Among  the  six — th't  came  with  the  decree — 

Foscari — saw  one — he  knew  not, — and  inquired 

His  name.     "  I  am  the  son — of  Marco  Me?nmo." 

"Ah!  "  (he  replied,)  "thy  father — was  my  friend." 

And  710W — he  goes.     "  It  is  the  hour — and  past. 
I  have  no  business  here."     "  But  wilt  thou  not 
Avoid  the  gazing  crowd  ?     That  way — is  j^fivaie." 
"  No !  as — I  entered — so — will  I  retire." 
And  (leaning  on  his  staff,)  he  left  the  house, — 
His  residence — for  five-and-thirty  years,) — 
By  the  sa^ne  stairs — up  which — he  came  in  state  ; 
Those — where  the  giants  stand,  (guarding  the  ascent,) 
Monstrous — terrific.     At  the  foot — he  stopt, — 
And  (on  his  staff — still  leaning,)  turned  — and  said, — 
"  By  mine  own  merits — did  I  come.     I  go — 
Driven — by  the  malice — of  mine  enemies." 
Then — to  his  boat  withdrew, — {poor — as  he  came,) — 
Amid  the  sighs — of  those — th't  dared  not  speak. 

This  journey — was  his  last.     When  the  bell  rang — 
(At  dawn,) — announcing  a  new  Doge  to  Venice, 
It  found  him — on  his  knees — before  the  cross, — 
Clasping  his  aged  hands — in  earnest /)?'aye7' ; 
And  there — he  died.     Ere  half  its  task  was  done — 
It  rang  his  knell. 

But  whence — the  deadly  hate 
Th't  caused  all  this, — -the  hate  of  Soredano  ? 
It  was  a  legacy — his  father  left, — 
Who  (but — for  Foscari)  had  reigned  in  Venice, 
And  (like  the  'venom — in  the  serpents  bag) 
Gathered — and  grew !     Nothing — but  turned  to  hate  t 
In  vain — did  Foscari — supplicate  for  peace, — 
Offering — (in  marriage)  his  fair  Isabel. 


~4 


298  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

He  changed  not, — with  a  dreadfid  piety — 
Studying  revenge;  listening  to  those — alone — 
Who  talked  of  vengeance;  grasping  hy  the  hand — 
Those — in  their  zeal,  (and  none — was    wanting — there), 
Who  came — to  tell  him  of  another  wrong  — 
Done — or  imagined.     When  his  father  died, 
Thej'  whispered,— ("'T  was  by /joison,")  and  the  words 
Struck  him — as  uttered  from  his  father^ s  grave. 
He  w7'ote  it — on  the  tomb, — ('tis  there — in  marble,) 
And, — (with  a  brow  of  care  most  merchant-Vikc,) 
Among  the  debtors — in  his  leger-hook, 
Entered  at  full, — (nor  month — nor  daij — forgot,) 
"  Francesco — Foscari, — for — my  father'' s  dcath^^ 
Leaving  a  blank — to  be  filled  up — hereafter. 
When  Foscari' s — noble  heart — at  length — gave  wag, 
He  took  the  volume — from  the  shelf  again 
Calmly, — and  (with  his  pen)  filled  up  the  blank, — 
Inscribing — "He  has  j)<iid  me." 
Ye  who  sit — 
Brooding — from  day — to  day, — from  day  to  day 
Chewing — the  bitter  cud, — and  starting  up — 
As  though  the  hour — was  come — to  whet  your  fangs, 
And,  (like  the  Pisan,)  gnaw  the  hairy  scalj) 
Of  him — who  had  offended, — (if  ye  must,) — 
Sit — and  brood  07i;  but  oh!  forbear — to  teach 
The  lesson — to  your  children. 

XXXIX.— THE  BKIDES  OF  VENICE.    Kogers. 

It  was  St.  Mary's  Eve;  and  all  poured  forth — 
For  some  great  festival.     The  fisher — came 
From  his  green  islet, — bringing  o'er  the  waves — 
His  wife — and  little  ones;  the  husbandman — 
From  the  firm  land, — with  many  a  friar — and  nun — 
And  village  maiden, — (her  first  flight — from  home,) 
Crowding — the  common  ferry.     All — arrived; 
And — (in  his  straw)  the  prisoner — turned  to  hear, 
So  great — the  stir — in  Venice.     Old — and  young — 
Thronged — her  three  hundred  bridges;  the  grave  Turk,— 
{Turbaned, — long-vested,)  and  the  cowering  Jew, — 
(In  yellow  hat — and  threadbare  gabardine,) 
Hurrying  along.     For, — (as  the  custom  was,) 
The  noblest  sons  and  daughters — of  the  state, 
(Whose  names — are  written  in  the  Book  of  Gold,) — 
Were — (on  that  day)  to  solemnize — their  nuptials. 
At  noon — a  distant  m.urmur  (through  the  crowd, — 
Rising — and  rolling  on,] — proclaimed  them  near, 
And  never — (from  their  earliest  hour) — was  seen 
Such  sjdendor — or  such  beauty.     Two — and  two 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  £99 

(The  richest  tapestry — unrolled  before  them;) 
First — came  the  brides;  each — in  vij-^rin-veil, — 
Nor  unattended — by  her  bridal  maids, 
The  two — th't — (step — by  step)  behind  her — bore 
The  small — but  precious  caskets — th't  contained 
The  dowcry — and  the  presents.     On  she  moved — 
In  the  sweet  seriousness — of  virgin — youth; 
Her  eyes — cast  down, — and  liolding  in  her  hand 
A  fan — [th&t  gently  waved)  of  ostrich-plumes. 
Her  veil, — (transparent — as  the  gossamer,) — 
Fell — from  beneath  a  starry  diadem; 
And  on  her  dazzling  neck — a  jetoel  shone, 
(^Riihy, — or  dianio7id, — or  dark  amethyst,) 
A  jeweled  chain, — in  many  a  winding  wreath, 
"Wreathing  her  gold  brocade. 

Before  the  church, — 
(That  venerable  structure, — now — no  more,) 
On  the  sea-brink, — another  train  they  met, — 
No  strangers, — nor  %inlooked  for — ere  they  came, — 
(^Brothers — to  some, — still  dearer — to  the  rest,) 
Each — (in  his  hand)  bearing  his  cap  and  plume, — 
And  (as  he  walked, — with  modest  dignity,) 
Folding  his  scarlet  mantle.     At  the  gate — 
They  join,  and  slowly — up  the  bannered  aisle, — 
(Led  by  the  choir,) — with  due  solemyiity — 
Eange  round  the  altar.     In  his  vestments — there — 
The  Patriarch  stands;  and  (while  the  anthem  flows) — 
Who — can  look  wimoved — the  dream  of  years — 
Just  now — -fidfillbig.     Here  a  mother  weeps, — 
Rejoicing — in  her  daughter.     There — a  son 
Blesses  the  day — th't  is  to  make  her  his; 
While  she — shines  forth — through  all  her  ornament, 
Her  beauty — heightened  bj'  her  hopes — and  fears. 

At  length — the  rite — is  ending.     All — fall  down, — 
All — of  all  ranks;  and  (stretching  out  his  hands — 
Aj)ostle-\\\i(i,)  the  holy  man — proceeds 
To  give  the  blessing — (not  a  stir — or  breath;) 
"When — (hark!)  a  din  of  voices — from  ivithout, — 
And  shrieks — and  groans — and  outcries — as  in  battle  I 
And  lo !  the  door  is  burst,  the  curtain  rent, — 
And  armed  riiifians, — [robbers — from  the  deep, 
Savage— uncouth, — led  on — by  Barberigo — 
And  his  six  brothers — in  their  coats  of  steel,) — 
Are  standing — on  the  threshold!     Statue-\\\ie — 
Awhile — they  gaze — on  the  fallen  mtdtitude, — 
Each — with  his  saber  up, — in  act  to  strike ; 
Then, — as  at  once — recovering  from  the  spell, 
Bush  forward — to  the  altar, — and  as  soon — 
Are  gone  again, — (amid  no  clash  of  ar7ns,) 


300  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Bearing  away  the  maidens — and  the  ireasiires. 
Where — are  they  now  7 — plowing  the  distant  waves, — 
Their  sails — outspread,  and  given  to  the  wind, — 
They — (on  their  decks)  triumphant.     On — they  speed, 
Steering — for  Istria  ;  their  accursed  barks — 
(Well — are  they  knoivn, — the  galliot — and  the  galley) — 
Freighted — [alas!)  with  all — that  i^/e  endears ! 
The  richest  argosies — were  poor — to  them ! 

Now — hadst  thou  seen — (along  that  crowded  shore) 
The  matrons — running — wild, — their  festal  dress 
A  strange — and  moving  contrast — to  their  grief; 
And  through  the  city, — (wander  where  thou  would'st,) 
The  men — /ia(/-armed — and  arming — every  where, — 
As  roused  from  slumber — by  the  stirring  trump; 
One — with  a  shield, — one — with  a  casque — or  spear; 
One — with  an  axe — severing  in  two — the  cJiain 
Of  some  old  pinnace.     Not  a  raft — a  plank 
But — (on  that  day)  was  afloat.     But — long  before^ 
(Frantic — with  grief,  and  scorning — all  control,) 
The  youths — were  gone — in  a  light  brigantine 
(Lying  at  anchor — near  the  arsenal ; 
Each — having  sworn,  (and — by  the  Holy  Word,) 
To  slay — or  be  slain.     And — (from  the  tower) — 
The  ivatchman — gives  the  signal.     In  the  east — 
A  ship  is  seen, — and  making  for  the  fort ; 
Her  flag — St.  Mark^s.     And  noio — she  turns  the  point, 
Over  the  waters — like  a  sea-bird — flying  ! 
Ha!   'tis  the  same, — 't  is  theirs!  from  stern — to p>roio — 
Green — with  victorious  wreaths,  she  comes — to  bring — 
All — that  was  lost.     Coasting — (with  narrow  search) 
Friali,— (like  a  tiger — in  his  spring^ — 
They  had  surprised — the  corsair — where  they  lay — 
Sharing  the  spoil — in  blind  security, 
And  sharing  lots, — had  slain  them,  one — and  all, — 
All — to  the  last, — and  flung  them — far — and  wide — 
Into  the  sea, — their  proper  element; 
Mim— first,— as  fiist — in  rank,  whose  7iame — so  long — 
Had  hushed — the  babes  of  Venice,  and  who  yet, — 
Breathing  a  little, — in  his  look — retained 
The  fiercejiess — of  his  soul.     Thus — were  the  brides — 
Lost — and  recovered ;  and  what  now — remained — 
But  to  give  thanks?    Twelve — &?'eas^-plates  and  twelve — crowjis 
By  the  young  victors — to  their  patron-saint — 
Vowed — in  the  field,  inestimable  gifts. 
Flaming  with  gem,s — and  gold,— were — (in  due  time) 
Seen  at  his  feet.     And  ever — to  preserve 
The  memory — of  a  day — so  full  of  change, 
(From  joy — to  grief — from  grief — to  joy  again,) 
Through  many  an  age, — as  oft — as  it  came  round, 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  391 

'T  was  held — religiously.     The  Doge — resigned 

His  crimson — for  pure  ermine, — visitirig — 

(At  earliest  dawn)  St.  Mary's — silver  shrine; 

And  through  the  city  (in  a  stately  barge 

Of  gold) — were  borne, — (with  songs  and  symphonies,) 

Twelve  ladies,— ^oung — and  noble.     Clad  they  were — 

In  bridal  white, — with  bridal  ornaments. 

Each — in  her  glittering  veil;  and — on  the  deck^ 

(As  on  a  burnished  throne,)  they  glided  by; 

No  window — or  balcony — but  adorned 

With  hangings — of  rich  texture, — not  a  roof — 

But  covered  with  beholders, — and  the  air — 

Vocal — with  joy.     Onward  they  went, — their  oars — 

Moving  in  concert — with  the  harmony, — 

Through  the  Rialto — to  the  Ducal  palace, — 

And — at  a  bamjv^t — served  with  honor  there 

^&t,— representing — (in  the  eyes  of  all, 

Eyes — not  iinivet,  I  ween,  with  grateful  tears,) — 

Their  lovely  ancestors, — the  Brides  of  Venice  I 

XL.— DYING  GLADIATOE.     Byrok. 

The  seal — is  set.     Now — welcome, — thou  dread  poioert 

Nameless, — yet  thus — omnipotent, — which  here 

Walk'st  in  the  shadow — of  the  midnight  hour — 

With  a  deep  awe,  yet  all — distinct  from  fear : 

Thy  haunts — are  ever — where  the  dead  walls  rear 

Their  ivy  tnantles, — and  the  solemn  scene — 

Derives  from  thee — a  scTise — so  deep — and  clear 

Th't  we — become  a  part — of  what  has  been, 
And  g7-ow — unto  the  spot, — a^^seeing  but — unseen. 

And  here — the  buzz  of  eager  nations  ran 

In  murmured  pity — or — loud-voa.vQ(i.  applause, 

As  man — was  slaughtered — by  his  fellow-m&n ! 

And  wherefore — slaughtered?  wherefore, — but  because 

Such — were  the  bloody  circus^ — genial  laws, 

And — the  imperial  pleasure.      Wherefore — not? 

What  matters — where  we  fall — to  fill  the  maws 

Of  worms, — on  ia^^^e-plains  or  listed  spot? 
Both — are  but  theaters — where  the  chief  actors — rot! 

I  see — (before  me) — the  gladiator  lie : 

He  leans — upon  his  hand;  his  manly  brow 

Consents — to  death, — but — conquers — agony ! 

And  his  drooped  head — sinks — [gradually) — low! 

And  through  his  side — the  last  drops, — (ebbing  sloio — 

From  the  red  gash,) — fall  heavy — one — by  one, 

Like  the  fiJ'st — of  a  thunder-sho-wer ;  and  now 

The  arena — swims  around  him!  he  is  gone 
Ere  ceased — the  inhuman  shout — which  hailed  the  tvretch — who  won. 


302  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

He — heard  it,  but — he  heeded  not ;  his  eyes — 
Were  with  his  heart, — and  that — was  Jar  away: 
He  recked  not — of  the  life — he  lost, — nor  prize, 
Bui — where  his  rude  hut — by  the  Danube  lay ! 
There — were  his  young  barbarians — all  at  play  I 
There  was  their  Dacian  mother, — he, — (their  sire,)— 
Butchered — to  make  a  Roman — holiday  I 
All  this — rushed — with  his  blood.     Shall  he  expire, — 
And — unavenged! — Arise!  ye  Goths!  and  glut — your  ire/ 

XLI.— THE  ALPS  AT  DAY-BEEAK.     Eogers. 

The  swn-beams — streak  the  azure  skies. 

And  li7ie — (with  light) — the  mountain's  brow: 

"With  hounds — and  horns — the  hunters  rise, — 
And  chase  the  roebuck — through  the  snow. 

From  rock — to  rock, — (with  giant-'boxmdi,) — 
High — on  their  iron  ^oZes — they  ^ass; 

Mute, — lest  the  air, — (convulsed  by  sound,)— 
Kend — (from  above) — a  frozen  mass. 

The  goats — wind — slow — their  wonted  way^ 
Up  craggy  steeps — and  ridges  rude, 

Marked — (by  the  wild  wolf — for  his  prey,) — 
From  desert  cave — or  hanging  wood. 

And — (while  the  torrent — thunders  loud, — 
And — as  the  echoing  cliffs — reply,) 

The  huts — peep  o'er  the  morning  cloud. 
Perched, — (like  an  eaglets  nest),  on  high. 

XLII.— LAMENT  OF  THE  PEKI  FOE  HINDA. 

Farewell !  farewell  to  thee, — Araby's  daughter ! 

(Thus — warbled  a  Peri — beneath  th'  dark  sea,) 
No  pearl — ever  lay — under  Oman's  green  water 

More  pure — in  its  shell — than  thy  spirit — in  thee. 

Oh!  fair — as  th'  sea-flower — close  to  thee  growing, — 
How  light — was  thy  heart — till  Love's  witchery  came, 

Like  th'  loind — of  the  south — o'er  a  sutnmer  lute — blowing,- 
And  hiish'd — all  its  music, — and  ivither'd — its  frame! 

But  long  (upon  Araby's — green — sunny  highlands) 
Shall  maids — and  their  lovers — remember  th'  doo7n 

Of  her — who  lies  sleeping — among  the  Pearl  Islands, 
With  naught — but  th'  sea-star  t'  light  up  her  tomb. 

And  still — when  th'  merry  da^e-season — is  burning, 

And  calls  t'  th'  paim-groves — th'  young — and  th'  old,— 

Th'  happiest  there, — from  their  pastime  returning 
At  sunset, — will  weep — when  thy  story  is  told. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  303 

The  young  village-mM, — when  (with  fowcra)  she  dresses 

Her  dark  flowing  hair  for  some  festival-day, 
Will  think  of  thy  fate — till,  {neglecting  her  tresses,) 

She  mournfully  turns — from  the  mirror  away. 

Nor  shall  Iran, — (beloved  of  her  hero,)  forget  thee; 

Tho'  tyrants — watch  over  her  tears — as  they  start, 
Close, — close — by  th'  side  of  that  hero — she  '11  set  thee, — 

Embalm' d — in  the  innermost  shrine — of  her  heart. 

Farewell  1  be  it  ours — to  embellish  thy  pillow — 

With  every  thing  beauteous — that  grows  in  th'  deep  ; 

Each  fiower  of  the  rock — and  each  gem — of  th'  billow — 
Shall  sweeten  thy  bed  and  illumine — thy  sleep. 

Around  thee — shall  glisten — the  loveliest  amber — 

Th't  ever — th'  sorrowing  sea-bird — has  wept; 
With  many  a  shell — in  whose  /)o/iow-wreath'd  chamber 

We,  [Peris  of  ocean,) — by  moonlight  have  slept. 

We'll  dive — where  the  gardens  of  coral  lie  darkling, — 

And  plant — all  the  rosiest  stems — at  thy  head; 
We  '11  seek — where  the  sands  of  the  Caspian — are  sparkling, — 

And  gather — their  gold — t'  strew  over  thy  bed. 

Farewell !  farewell !  until  Pity's  sweet  fountain 
Is  lost — in  tho  hearts — of  the  fair — and  th'  brave. 

They  '11  weep — for  th'  chieftain — who  died — on  the  mountain  ; 
They'll  weep — for  th'  maiden — who  sleeps — in  this  wave. 

XLIII.— HOME  SCENES  IN  MY  NATIVE  VALE.     Koqers. 

Dear — is  my  little  native  vale, — 

The  7'ing-dove — builds — and  murm,urs  there; 

Close — by  my  cot — she  tells  her  tale — 
To  every  passing  villager. 

The  squirrel — leaps — from  tree — to  tree, 

And  shells  his  nuts — at  liberty. 

In  orange-gvoves — and  mj/r-^^e-bowers, 

(That  breathe  a  gale — oi  fragrance  round,) 

I  charm — the  fairy-{ootcd  hours 
With  my  loved  lute's — romantic  sotmd, 

Or  crowns — of  living  laurel  weave 

For  those — th't  win  the  race — at  eve.  • 

The  shepherds  horn — (at  break  of  day,) 

The  ballet  danced  (in  twilight  glade,) 
The  canzonet — and  roundelay — 

Sung — in  the  silent — green-viood  shade; 
Those  simple  joys — (th't  never  fail) 
Shall  bind  me — to  my  native  vale. 


304  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION". 

XLIV.— THE  SHIPWRECK.     Byrox. 

'T  was  twilight^  and  the  sunless  day — went  doion — 

Over  the  waste  of  waters,  like  a  veil, 
xyhich — (if  wUhdrawn)  would  but  disclose  the  frown— 

Of  one  whose  hate — is  masked — but  to  assail. 
Thus — to  their  hopeless  eyes — the  night  was  shown, 

And  grimly  darkled — o'er  the./aces  pale, 
And  the  dim — desolate  deep  ;  twelve  days — had  Fear — 
Been  their  familiar, — and  now — Death — was  here ! 

Then — rose — (from  the  sea) — the  wild  farewell, — 

Then — shrieked — the  timid, — and  stood  still — the  brave, — 

Then — some — leaped  overboard — (with  dreadful  yell,) 
As  eager — to  anticipate — their  grave ; 

And  the  sea — yawned  around  her — (like  a  hell,) 

And  doion — she  sucked  with  her — the  whirling  wave. 

Like  one — who  grapples — with  his  enemy, — 

And  strives  to  strangle  him — before  he  die  I 

And  first — one  universal  shriek — there  rushed, — 
Louder — than  the  loud  ocean,  like  a  crash — 

Of  echoing  thunder;  and  then — all — was  hushed^ 
Save  the  wild  ivind — and  the  remorseless  dash 

Of  billows;  but — [aX  intervals)  iheve  gushed, — 
(Accompanied — with  a  convulsive  splash,) 

A  solitary  shriek,  the  bubbling  c7-y — 

Of  some  strong  swimmer — in  his  agony. 

There  were  two  fathers — (in  this  ghastly  crew,) — 
And  loith  them — their  two  sons, — of  whom  the  07ie — 

"Was  more  robust — and  hardy — to  the  view ; 
But  he — died — early ;  and  when  he  was  gone 

His  nearest  mess-mate — told  his  sire,  who  threw 

0?ie  glance  on  him, — and  said, — "Heaven's  will — be  done  I 

I — can  do  nothing  ! "  and  he  saio  him — thrown 

Into  the  deej:), — without  a  tear — or  groan  ! 

The  other  father — had  a  weaklier  child, — 

Of  a  soft  cheek — and  aspect  delicate ; 
But — the  boy — bore  tip — long, — and  (with  a  mild — 

And patie?it  spirit) — held  aloof — his  fate; 
Little — he  said, — and  now — and  then — he  smiled, — 

As  if  to  win  a  part — from  off  the  weight — 
He  saw  increasing — on  his  father's  heart. 
With  the  deep — deadly  thought — th't  they  must  parti 

And  o'er  him — bent  his  sire,  and  never  raised 
His  eyes — from  off  his  face, — but  wiped  the  foam 

From  his  pale  lips, — and  ever — on  him  gazed! 

And  when  the  wished-for  shoivcr — (at  length)  was  come, 

And  the  boy's  eyes, — (which  the  dull  film — \\A\?-glazed,) — 
Brightened,  and — (for  a  moment)  seemed  to  roam, 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  305 

He  squeezed — (from  out  a  rag)  some  drops  of  rain— 
Into  his  dying  child's  mouth  ;  but — in  vain  I 

The  bojf  expired;  the  father — held  the  clay, — 

And  looked  upon  it  long ;  and  when  (at  last) 
Death — left  no  doubt, — and  the  dead  burden — lay 

Stiff — on  his  heart, — and  pulse — and  hope  was  past, 
He  watched  it — (wistfully,) — until  away 

'T  was  borne — by  Ihe  rude  wave — wherein  'twas  cast; 
Then— he — (himself)  sunk  down — all  dumb — and  shivering, 
And  gave  no  sign — of  life, — save  his  limbs — quivering. 

XLV.— OKIGIN  OF  FEELINGS,  THOUGHTS,  AND  ACTS. 

The  origin  of  beauty,  love, — and  truth, — 
Of  light,  life,  motion,  and  immortal  youth, 
Oi  form,,  of  music,  sweetnsss, — and  delight. 
Flashes — from  God's  own  image — on  my  sight. 
I  feel  the  pulses — of  the  Eternal  Soul — 
In  all  my  veiiis.     My  thoughts — within  me — roll 
Like  new-born  planets,  flushed  with  happy  life; 
My  nature — is  at  rest.     There  is  no  strife, 
No  battle — of  contending  forms, — above 
Earth — and  its  spheres. 

Know  ye  the  land  of  love  ? 
Its  ancient  boundaries,  the  broad  extent — 
Of  its  illimitable  continent? 
"Where'er  worlds  bloom — and  spirit  skies  unfold. 
Outflow  its  atmosjiheres — of  living  gold. 
The  universe — is  like  a  silver  bell; — 
The  tongue  of  time — such  harmony  doth  tell 
That  worlds — are  formed  within  the  widening  seor— 
Of  our  divine, — perpetual  ecstasy. 

XLVI.— THE  LUST  OF  POWER.     Pollok, 

Otie  passion — prominent  appears : — the  lust 
Of  power, — which  q/'^-times — took  the  fairer  name— 
Of  liberty, — and  hung  the  popular  flag — 
Of  FKEEDOM  out.     Many, — indeed,  its  nam.es. 
When — on  the  throne  it  sat, — and  round  the  neck 
Of  millions — riveted — its  iron  chain, 
And  on  the  shoulders  of  the  people — laid 
Burdens — unmerciful, — it  title  took — 
Of  tyranny, — oppression, — despotism, ; 
And  every  tongue — was  weary — cursing  it. 
When  in  the  multitude — it  gathered  strength, — 
And,  (like  an  ocean — bursting — from  its  bounds,— 
Long  beat  in  vain,)  went  forth  resistlessly, — 
It  bore  the  stam.p — and  designation  then 
Of  popular  fury, — anarch  v. — rebellion  ; 

20 


306  MANUAL   OF  ELOCUTION. 

And  honest  men — bewailed,  all  order — void; 

All  laws — annulled;  all  property — destroyed; 

The  venerable — murdered — in  the  streets; 

The  wise — despised;  streams — red — with  human  blood; 

Harvests — beneath  the  frantic  foot — trod  down; 

Lands — desolate,  and  famine — at  the  door. 

These — are  a  part;  hwt'other  names  it  had 

Innumerous — as  the  shapes — and  robes — it  wore. 

But — under  every  name, — in  nature — still — 

Invariably — the  same, — and  always — had, 

Conflicting  cruelly — against  itself, 

By  its  own  hand — it  fell;  part — slaying  part. 

And  men — who  noticed  not  the  suicide 

Stood — wondering  much — Avhy  earth, — from  age — to  age,- 

"Was  still  enslaved, — and  erring  causes — gave. 

This — was  eartKs  liberty, — its  nature — this, 
However  named,  in  whomsoever  found, — 
And  found  it  loas — in  all — of  woman  born, — 
Each  man — to  make  all — subject  to  his  will; 
To  make  them  do, — undo, — eat, — drink, — stand, — move, 
Talk, — think, — and  feel — exactly — as  he  chose. 
Hence — the  eternal  strife — of  brotherhoods, 
Of  individuals, — families, — commontvealths. 
The  root — (from  which  it  greio) — was  pride;  bad  root, — 
And  bad — the  fruit  it  bore.     Then  wonder  not 
Th't  long — the  nations — from  it — richly  reaped 
Oppression, — slavery, — tyranny, — and  war; 
Confusion, — desolation, — trouble, — shame. 
And,  marvelous — tho'  it  seems, — this  monster, — (when 
It  took  the  name — of  slavery, — as  oft 
It  did,) — had  advocates — to  plead  its  cause; 
Beings  th't  walked  erect, — and  spoke — like  men 
Of  Christian  parentage  descended  too. 
And  dipped — in  the  baptismal  font, — as  sign 
Of  dedication — to  the  Prince — who  bowed — 
To  death — to  set  the  si^bound  prisoner — free. 

?7»ichristian  thought!  on  what  pretense — soever — 
Of  right  inherited, — or  else — acquired; — 
Of  loss, — or  profit, — or  what  plea — you  name, — 
To  buy — and  sell,— to  barter, — whip, — and  hold — 
In  chains — a  being — of  celestial  make; 
Of  kindred  form, — of  kindred  facidties, — 
Of  kindred  feelings, ^passions, — thougJds, — desires ; 
Bomaree — and  heir — of  an  immortal  Jiope; 
Thought — villainous, — absurd, — detestable! 
Unworthy  to  be  harbored. — in  a  fiend  1 
And  only  overreached — in  wickedness — 
By  that,  birth — too  of  earthly  liberty, 
Which  aimed — to  make  a  reasonable  man 
By  legislation — think, — and  by  the  sword — believe. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  397 

XLVII.— FOWLS  OF  THE  AIK  AND  LILIES  OF  THE  FIELD. 

When  my  breast  labors — with  oppressive  care, — 
And  o'er  my  cheek — descends  th'  falling  tear, 
While  all  my  warring  passions — are  at  strife, 
Oh !  let  me  list'n — t'  th'  words  of  life. 
Raptures — {deej)-ie\t) — his  doctrine  did  impart, — 
And  thus — he  rais'd  from  earth — th'  drooping  heart. 

"  Think  not — when  all — your  scanty  stores  afford 
Is  spread — (at  once) — upon  th'  sparing  board; 
Think  not — when  worn — th'  homelj'  robe  appears, — 
While  on  th'  roof — th'  howling  tempest  bears ; — 
What — farther — shall  this  feeble  life  sustain, — 
And  iv]iat — shall  clothe  these  shiv'ring  limbs  again. 
Say, — does  not  life — its  nourishment — exceed, 
And  th'  fair  body — its  investing  weed? 
Behold !  and  look  away — your  low  despair, — 
See  th'  bright  tenants  of  th'  barren  air  : 
T'  them — nor  stores — T\or  granaries — belong; 
Naught — but  th'  woodland — and  th'  pleasing  song ; 
Yet — your  kind — heavenly  Father — bends  his  eye 
On  th'  least  wing — th't  flits  along  th'  sky. 
T'  him — they  sing — when  spring — renews  ih!  plain; 
T'  him — they  cry — in  winter  s  pinching  reign; 
Nor  is  their  inusie — nor  their  plaint — in  vain  ; 
He  hears  th'  gay — and  th'  distressful  call. 
And — (with  unsparing  bounty) — fills  them  allJ^ 

Observe — th'  rising  libfs  snowy  grace; 
Observe — th'  various — vegetable  race ; 
They — neither  toil — nor  spin, — but  careless  grow; 
Yet  see — how  warm — they  blush,  how  bright — they  glow! 
What  regal  vestments — can — with  them  compare  / 
What  king — so  shining,  or  what  queen — so  fair! 
If — ceaseless — (thus) — th'  fowls  of  heav'n — he  feeds, 
If — o'er  th'  fields — such  lucid  robes — he  spreads, 
Will  He  not  care  for  yoii, — (ye  faithless,) — say? 
Is  He — unwise,  or — are  ye — less — than  they  ? 

XLYIII.— PKOGRESS  OF  LIFE  FROM  INFANCY  TO  OLD  AGE. 

I  dream'd — I  saw — a  little  rosy  child — 
(With  flaxen  ringlets) — in  n  garden  playing; — 
Now — stopping  here, — and  then — afar  off — straying, — 

As  flowers — or  butterfly — his  feet  beguiled. 

'T  was  chang'd.     One  sum,mer''s  day — I  stepp'd  aside— 
T'  let  h.\m  pa^s;  his  face — and  manhood — seeming, 
And  that  full  eye — of  blue — was  fondly  beaming 

On  a  fair  maiden — whom  he  called — "his  bride  1^' 


308  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Once — more :  't  was  autumn, — and — (th'  cheerful  fire)— 
I  saw  &  group — of  j'outhful  forms — surrounding; 
(Th'  room — with  harmless  pleasantry — resounding,)— 

And — (in  th'  midst) — I  mark"d — th'  smiling  sire. 
Th'  heavens — were  clouded,  and  I  heard  th'  tone — 
Of  a  slow-moving  hell; — th'  it^Ai^-hair'd  man — was  gone. 

XLIX.— HAIL  TO  THE  GENTLE  BRIDE.— Mitford. 

Hail — t'  th'  gentle  bride,  th'  dove — 

High  nested — in  th'  column's  crest! 
Oh,  welcome — as  th'  bird  of  love, 

"Who  bore  the  oKve-sign — of  rest ! 
Hail  t'  th'  gentle  bride !  th'  flower — 

"Whose  garlands — round  th'  column  twine  I 
Oh,  fairer — than  th'  citron  bower, — 

More  fragrant — than  th'  blossomed  vine  I 
Hail  t'  th'  gentle  bride  I  th'  star — 

Whose  radiance — o'er  th'  column  beams ; 
Oh,  soft — as  moonlight — seen  afar — 

A  silver  shine — on  trembling  streams  I 

L.— THE  LAST  MINSTEEL.    Walter  Scott. 

The  way — was  long,  the  wind — was  cold^ 
The  Minstrel — was  infirm — and  old; 
His  withered  cheek — and  tresses  gray — 
Seemed  to  have  known  a  better  day. 
The  harp,  (his  sole  remaining  joy,) 
Was  carried  by  an  orphan  boy. 
The  last  of  all  the  bards — was  he 
Who  sung — of  Border  chivalry. 
For,  well-a-dLny !  their  date — was  fled, 
His  tuneful  brethren — all  were  dead; 
And  he,  neglected — and  oppressed, 
Wished  to  be  with  them, — and  at  rest. 
No  more, — on  prancing  palfrey  borne, 
He  caroled, — light  as  lark — at  morn  ; 
No  longer,  courted — and  caressed, 
High  placed  in  hall,  a  ivelr.ome  guest, 
He  poured — to  lord — and  lady  gay — 
The  unpremeditated  lay. 
Old  times — were  changed,  old  manners — gone; 
A  stranger — filled  the  Stuarts'  throne. 
A  wandering  harper,  (scorned — and  poor,) 
He  begged  his  bread — from  door — to  door; 
And  tuned,  (to  please  a  peasant's  ear,) 
The  harp — a  king — had  loved  to  hear. 

He  passed — where  Neirark's  stately  tower 
Looks  out  from  Yarrow's  birclien  bower; 


MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION.  309 

The  Minstrel  gazed — with  wishful  eye; 
No  humbler  resting-place — was  nigh. 
With  hesitating  step — at  last 
Th'  embattled  portal-&rch  he  passed, 
Whose  ponderous  gate — and  massy  bar 
Had  oft — rolled  back  the  tide  of  war, 
But  never  closed  the  iron  door 
Against  the  desolate  and  poor. 
The  Duchess — marked  his  weary  pace^ 
His  timid  mien,  and  reverend  face, 
And  bade  her  page — the  nieniaLs  tell 
That  they  should  tend  the  old  man — well; 
For  she — had  known  adversity, 
Though  born — in  such  a  high  degree  ; 
In  pride  of  power,  in  beauty's  bloom, 
Had  wept — o'er  Monmouth's  bloody  tomb. 

When  kindness — had  his  wants  supplied, 
And  the  old  rnan — was  gratified, 
Began  to  rise — his  m,instrel  pride : 
And  he  began  to  talk,  anon, 
Of  good  Earl  Francis,  (dead — and  gone;) 
And  how  full  inany  a  tale  he  knew — 
Of  the  old  warriors — of  Buccleugh; 
And  would  the  noble  Duchess — deign 
To  listen  to  an  old  man's  strain. 
Though  stiff — his  hand,  his  voice — though  weak, 
He  thought  even  yet, — the  sooth  to  speak, — 
That  if  she  loved  the  harp  to  hear, 
He  could  make  muMc — to  her  ear. 

The  humble  boon — was  soon  obtained ; 
The  aged  Minstrel — audience  gained. 
But  when  he  reached  the  room  of  state, 
Where  she,  with  all  her  ladies,  sate, 
Perchance — he  wished  his  boon  denied: 
For  when  to  tune  his  harp  he  tried 
His  trembling  hand  had  lost  the  ease— 
Which  marks  security — to  please; 
And  scenes,  (long  past,)  oi  joy  and  pain, 
Came  wildering — o'er  his  aged  brain; 
He  tried  to  tune  his  haip — in  vain. 
The  pitying  Dtichess — praised  its  chime, 
And  gave  him  heart,  and  gave  him  time. 
Till  every  string's  according  glee — 
Was  blended — into  harmony. 
And  then,  (he  said,)  he  would  full  fain 
He  could  recall  an  ancient  strain 
He  never  thought  to  sing  again. 


310  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

And  much  he  wished,  yet  feared,  to  iry 
The  long-forgotten  melody. 

Amid  the  strings — his  fingers  strayed, 
And  an  uncertain  warbling  made; 
And  oft — he  shook  his  hoary  head: 
But  when  he  caught  the  measure  wild, 
The  old  man  raised  his  face,  and  smiled; 
And  lightened  up  his  faded  eye 
With  all  a  poeVs  ecstasy! 
In  varying  cadence,  soft — or  strong, 
He  swept  the  sounding  chords  along; 
The  present  scene,  the  future  lot. 
His  toil,  his  wants,  were  all  forgot : 
Cold  diffidence,  and  age's  frost, 
In  the  full  tide  of  song  were  lost ; 
Each  blank — in  faithless  memory  void 
The  poet's  glowing  thought  supplied ; 
And  while  his  harp — respotisive  rang, 
'T  was  thus — the  latest  Minstrel  sang  : 

"  Breathes  there  the  man,  with  sotd — so  dead, 
"Who  never — to  himself — hath  said, 

'  This — is  my  own, — my  native  land ! ' 
"Whose  heart — hath  ne'er  within  him  burned 
As  home — his  footsteps  he  hath  turned 

From  wandering — on  a  foreign  strand ! 
If  such — there  breathe,  go,  mark  him  well; 
For  him — no  minstrel  raptures  swell : 
High — though  his  titles,  proud — his  name, 
Soundless — his  wealth — as  vnsh  can  claim, — 
Despite  those  titles, — power,  and  pelf, 
The  wretch,  concenter' d  all  in  self. 
Living — shall  forfeit — fair  renown, 
And,  doubly  dying,  shall  go  down — 
To  the  vile  dust — from  whence  he  sprung, 
Unwept, — unhonored, — and  unsung ! 

"  O  Caledonia  !  stern — and  wild, 

Meet  nurse — for  a  poetic  child! 

Land — of  brown  heath  and  shaggy  wood, — 

Land  of  the  mountain  and  the  flood, — 

Land  of  my  sires ! — vjhat  mortal  hand — 

Can  e'er  untie — the  filial  band 

That  knits  me — to  thy  rugged  strand? 

Still, — as  I  view  each  well-known  scene, 

Think  what  is  now,  and  what  hath  been, 

Seems — as,  to  me,  of  all  bereft, 

Sole  friends  thj'  vwods  and  streams — were  left; 

And  thus — I  love  them  better — still, 

Even  in  extremity — of  ill. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  3U 

By  Yarrow's  stream — still  let  me  stray,** 
Though  tioTic — should  guide  my  feeble  way; 
Still — feel  the  breeze — down  Ettnck  break, 
Although  it  chill — my  withered  cheek; 
Still  lay  my  head — on  Teoiot  stone, 
Though  ihere^—J'orgotten — and  alone, 
The  bard — may  draw  his  parting  groan. 

"Sweet  Teviot!  on  thy  silver  tide 

The  glaring  bale-Q.ves — blaze  no  more; 
No  longer — steel-clad  warriors  ride — 

Along  thy  wild — and  xoillowed  shore ; 
"Where'er  thou  windJst  by  dale — or  hill, 
All,  all — is  peaceful,  all — is  still, 

As  if  thy  waves, — since  Time  was  born, 
Since  first  they  rolled  upon  the  Tweed, 
Had  only  heard  the  shepherd's  reed. 

Nor  started — at  the  bugle-hovn ; 
Unlike  the  tide — of  hutnan  time. 

Which,  though  it  change  in  ceaseless  fiow, 
Ketains  each  grief, — retains  each  crime, 

Its  earliest  course — was  doomed  to  know ; 
And,  darker — as  it  downward  bears. 
Is  stained — with  past — and  j^t'^sent  tears." 

LI.— THE  EOMAN  SOLDIEK.    Athekstonk. 

There  was  a  man, 
(A  Roman  soldier,  for  some  daring  deed 
That  trespassed  on  the  laws,)  in  dungeon  low 
Chained  down.     His — was  a  noble  spirit, — rough, — 
But  generous, — and  brave, — and  kind. 
He  had  a  son :  it  was  a  rosy  boy, — 
A  little  faithful  copy — of  his  sire — 
In  face — and  gesture.     From  infancy — the  child 
Had  been  his  father's  solace — and  his  care. 

With  earliest  morn 
Of  that  first  day — of  darkness — and  amaze — 
He  came.     The  iron  door — was  closed — for  them,— 
Never — to  open  more!    The  day, — the  night, — 
Dragged  slowly  by;  nor  did  they  know  the  fate — 
Impending  o'er  the  city.     Well  they  heard 
The  pent-up  thunders — in  the  earth  beneath, — 
And  felt  its  giddy  rocking;  and  the  air 
Grew  hot  (at  length,)  and  thick.     But  in  his  straw 
The  boy — was  sleeping :  and  the  father  hoped 
The  earthquake — might  pass  by;  nor  would  he  wake — 
(From  his  sound  rest)  the  unfearing  child, — nor  tell 
The  dangers — of  their  state.     On  his  low  couch 


312  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

The  fettered  soldier  sunk, — and — (with,  deep  awe)-^ 

Listened — the  fearful  sounds : — with  upturned  eye — 

To  the  great  gods — he  breathed  a  prayer ; — then — strove 

To  calm  himself,  and  lose — (in  sleep) — awhile 

His  useless  terrors.     But  he  coidd  not  sleep: 

His  body — burned  with  feverish  heat; — his  chains — 

Clanked  loud, — although  he  moved  not ;  deep — in  earth — 

Groaned  unimaginable  thunders: — sou7ids, — 

(Fearful — and  ominous,)  arose — and  died, 

(Like  the  sad  moanings — of  November's  wind,) 

In  the  blank  midnight.     Deepest  horror — chilled 

His  blood — that  burned — before ;  cold,  clammy  sweats — 

Came  o'er  him  :  then, — (anon,) — a  fiery  thrill 

Shot  through  his  veins.     Now — on  his  couch — he  shrunk, 

And  shivered — as  in  fear: — 7iow — (ujiright) — leaped, — 

As  though  he  heard  the  Ja^^^e-trumpet  sound, 

And  longed — to  cope  with  death. 

He  sle2}i — at  last, 
A  troubled, — dreamy  sleep.  Well — had  he  slept, 
Never — to  waken  m.oreI  His  hours — are  few, — 
But  terrible — his  agony. 

Loudly — the  fatJier — called  upon  his  child: 
No  voice — replied.     Trembling — and  anxiously — 
He  searched  their  couch  of  straw: — with  headlong  haste— 
Trod  round  his  stinted  limits, — and, — low  bent, — 
Groped  darkling — on  the  earth:  no  child — was  there. 
Again  he  called :  again  at  farthest  stretch — 
Of  his  accursed  fetters, — till  the  blood — 
Seemed  btirsting — from  his  ears, — and  from  his  eyes 
Fire  flashed :  he  strained,  with  arm — extended  far, 
And  fingers — widely  spread, — greedy — to  touch — 
Though  but  his  idoVs  garment.     Useless  toil! 
Yet  still — renevied:  still  round — and  round  he  goes, — 
And  strains, — and  snatches, — and — (with  dreadful  cries) — 
Calls  on  his  boy.     Mad  frenzy — fires  him  now : 
He  plants  against  the  wall — his  feet;  his  chain — 
Grasps;  tugs — (with  giant  strength)  to  force  av)ay — 
The  deep-driven  staple :  yells — and  shrieks — with  rage, 
And, — (like  a  desert  lion — in  the  snare — 
Raging — to  break  his  toils,) — to  and  fro — bounds. 
But  see !  the  ground  is  opening :  a  blue  light 
Mounts, — gently  waving, — noiseless :  thin — and  cold — 
It  seems, — and — like  a  rainbow  tint,  not  flame; 
But — ^by  its  luster, — (on  the  earth  outstretched,) — 
Behold  the  lifeless  child!     His  dress  is  singed, — 
And  o'er  his  face  serene — a  darkened  line 
Points  out  the  lightning's  track. 

Silent — and  pale— 
The  father  stands :  no  tear — is  in  his  eye : 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  313 

The  thunders — bellow, — but  he  hears  them  not. 

The  ffi'ou)id  lifts — like  a  sea, — he  kncnos  it  not: 

The  strong  vmlls — grind — and  gape :  the  vaulted  roof — 

Takes  shapes — like  bubble — tossing  in  the  vrind : 

See  I  he  looks  up — and  smiles ;  for  death — to  him 

Is  happiness.     Yet — could  one — last  embrace — 

Be  given,  't  were  still — a  sweeter  thing — to  die. 

It  will  be  given.     Look!  how  the  rolling  ground, 

(At  every  swell,)  tuarer — and  still  more  near — 

Moves  (toward  the  father's  outstretched  arm) — his  boy  I 

Once — he  has  touched  his  garment :  how  his  eye — 

Lightens  with  love, — and  hope, — and  anxious  fearsi 

Ha!  -see,  he  has  him  noto ! — he  clasps  him  round, — 

Kisses  his  face,  puts  back  the  curling  locks — 

That  shaded  his  fine  brow,  looks  in  his  eyes, 

Grasps — in  his  own — those  little  dimpled  hands, 

Then  folds  him — to  his  breast, — as  he  was  wont — 

To  lie — when  sleeping, — and — [resigned) — awaits 

Undreaded  death.     And  death  came — soon, — and  swift, — 

And  pangless.     The  huge  pile — sunk  down — (at  once) — 

Into  the  opening  earth.      Walls, — arches, — roof, 

And  deep  foutidatiorir-stones, — all — mingling — fell  I 

LII.— A  WINTER  SKETCH  AND  DOMESTIC  SCENES.    Hoyt. 

Th'  blessed  tnorn — has  come  again;  the  early  gray — 
Taps  at  th'  slumberer's  window-Tpunes, — and  seems  t'  say, — 
Break, — break — from  the  enchatiter's  chain; — away, — away  I 

'T  is  winter, — yet — there  is  no  sound — along  the  air 

Of  winds — upon  their  battle-gvoxxwA ; — but  gently  there — 

Th'  snow  is  falling  : — all  around — how  fair, — how  fair! 

Th'  jocund  fields — would  masquerade, — [fantastic  scene !) 

Tree, — shriib, — and  lawn, — and  lonely  glade — have  cast  their  green, — 

And  joined  th'  revel, — all — arrayed — so  white — and  clean. 

Even  the  old  posts — (th't  hold  th'  bars) — and  the  old  gate, — 

{^Forgetful — of  their  tcintry  wars — and  age  sedate,) — 

'Kigh-cajjped — and  plumed, — (like  white  hussars,)  stand  there  in  state. 

Th'  drifts — are  hanging  by  th'  sill, — the  eaves, — th'  door; 
Th'  haystack^— h&s,  become  a  hill;  all  covered  o'er 
Th'  wagons — (loaded  for  th'  mill — the  eve  before.) 

Maria — brings  th'  water-pail, — but  whereas — th'  well? 
Like  magic — of  a  fairy  tale, — (most  strange — t'  tell) — 
All  vanished, — curb, — and  crank, — and  rail.     How  deep  it  fell  I 

Th'  wood-pile — too — is  playing  hide:  the  axe, — th'  log, — 
Th'  kennel — of  that  friend— so  tried, — (the  old  watch-^og,) — 
Th'  grindstone — ^standing  by  its  side, — all — [now)— incog. 


314  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Th'  bustling  cock — looks  out — [aghast) — from  his  high  shed; 
No  spot — t'  scratch  him  a  repast: — up  comes  his  head, — 
Starts — th'  dull  hamlet — with  a  blast, — and  back — t'  bed. 

Old  drowsy  dobbin, — (at  th'  call,) — amazed — awakes, 
And — (from  th'  window  ofliis  stall) — a  view  he  takes; 
While  thick— &rnii  faster — seem  t'  fall — th'  silent  flakes. 

Th'  barnyard  gentry — {^nusing,) — chime  their  morning  moan; 
Like  Memnon's  music — of  old  time — (that  voice  of  stone!) 
So — warbled  they, — and  so  sublime — their  solemn  tone. 

Good  Ruth — has  called  th'  younger  folk — t'  d7-op — below; 

Full  welcome — was  th'  word  she  spoke, — down — dow7i  they  go, — 

Th'  cottage  quietude — is  broke: — th'  snow !  th'  snow! 

Now — 7'ises — (from  around  th'  fire) — a  pleasant  strain; 
Ye  giddy  sons — of  mirth, — retire  I  and  ye  profane  I 
A  hymn — t'  the  Eternal  Sire — goes  up  again. 

Th'  patriarchal  Book — divine — (upon  th'  knee,) — 

Open — where  th'  gems  of  Judah  shine, — {sweet  minstrelsie  !) 

How  soars  each  heart — with  each  fair  line, — O  God, — t'  thee! 

Around  the  altar — low  they  bend, — [devout — in  prayer  ;) — 
As  snows — upon  th'  roof  descend, — so — angels — there 
Come  down, — that  household — t'  defend — with  gentle  care. 

Now — sings  th'  kettle — o'er  th'  blaze, — th'  buckwheat — heaps; 
Eare  Mocha, — (worth  an  AraVs  praise,) — sweet  Susan  steeps; 
The  old  round  stand — her  nod  obeys, — and  out — it  leaps. 

Unerring  presages — declare — th'  banquet  near  ; 
Soon — busy  appetites — are  there, — and  disappear — 
The  glories — of  the  ample  fare, — (with  thanks — sincere.) 

Now — tiny  sraow-birds — venture  nigh — from  copse — and  spray, — 
[Sweet  strangers!  with  th'  winter^ s  sky — t'  pass  away,) 
And  gather  crumbs — in  fidl  supply — for  all  th'  day. 

Let  now  th'  busy  hours — begin: — out  rolls  th'  churn; 

Forth  hastes  th'  farm-hoy, — and  brings  in  brush — t'  burn; — 

Sweep, — shovel, — scour, — sew, — knit, — and  spin, — 'till  night's  return. 

T'  delve  his  thrashing — John  must  hie;  his  sturdy  shoe — 
Can  all  th'  subtle  damps — defy;  how  evades  he — through! 
While  dainty  7nilkmaids, — [slow  and  shy,)  his  t7^ack  pursue. 

Each — t'  the  hou7''s — allotted  care, — t'  shell  th'  corn, — 
Th'  broken  ha7-ness — t'  repair, — th'  sleigh — t'  adorn, — 
As  chee7ful, — tra7iquil, — frosty, — fair — speeds  o?^  th'  morn. 

While  mo7mts — the  eddying  smoke  amain — (from  7nany  a  hearth)— 
And  all  th'  la7idscape — rings  agai7i — with  rustic  mirth, 
So  gladsome  seems — (to  every  swain)  th'  snoioy  earth. 


MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION.  315 

LIII.— SOUL-LONGING:    ITS  MEANING  AND  RESULTS.    Lowkli,. 

Of  all — th'  myriad  moods — of  mhid — 

Th't  thro'  the  soul — come  thronging, — 
Which  one — was  e'er  so  dear, — so  kind, — 

So  beautiful — as — Longing  ? 
Th'  thing — we  long  for, — that — we  are — 

For  one — transcendent  moment, — 
Before — the  present — [j^oor — and  bare) — 

Can  make — its  sneering — comment. 

Still, — (thro'  our  paltry  stir — and  strife,)—' 

Glows  dow7i — th'  wish'd  Ideal, — 
And  Longing — m,olds — in  clay — what  Lif&^ 

Carves — in  th'  marble — real; 
To  let  th'  new  life  in, — we  know, — 

Desire — must  ope  the  j)ortal; 
Perhaps — th'  longing — to  be  so — 

Helps — 7nake  th'  soul — immortal. 

Longing — is  God's  fresh — heavenward  will,— 

With  our  poor  earthward — striving; 
We  quench  it — th't  we  may  be  still 

Conten t — with  m,erely — liting ; 
But, — would  we  learn — that  heart's — fidl  scope— 

Which  we  are  hourly — wronging, — 
Our  lives — must  climb — from  hope — to  hope — 

And  realize — our  longing. 

Ah!  let  us  hope — th't  to  o\ix praise — 

Good  God — not  only  reckons 
The  m,om,ents — when  we  tread  his  ways, — 

But — when  the  spirit  beckons, — 
Th't  some — slight  good — is  also  wrought — 

Beyond — se(/-satisfaction, — 
When  we  are  simply  good — in  thought, 

Howe'er — we  fail — in  action. 

LIY.— TO  GIVE  IS  TO  LIVE. 

Forever — the  sun — is  pouring  his  gold —  ' 

On  hundreds  of  worlds — that  beg — and  borrow: 

His  warmth — he  pours  forth — on  summits  cold, 
His  ivcalth — on  the  homes — of  u-ant — and  sorrow: 

To  withhold  his  largess — of  precious  light — 

Is — to  bury  himself — in  eternal  night  1 
To  give — is — to  live  ! 

The  flower — blossoms  not — for  itself — at  all; 

Its  joy — is  the  joy — it  freely  diffuses ; 
Of  beauty — and  balm — it  is  prodigal. 

And  it  lives — in  the  life — it  sweetly  loses: 


316  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

No  choice — for  the  rose-\>\\(\  but  glory — or  doom  ; 

To  exhale — or  to  smother, — to  ivither — or  bloom. 

To  deny — is — to  die  ! 

The  seas — lend  silvery  rain — to  the  land; 

The  land — its  sapphire — streams — to  the  ocean  ; 
The  heart — sends  blood — to  the  b^-ain — of  comm,and; 

The  brain — to  the  heart — its  lightning  motion; 
And  ever — and  evei — we  yield  our  breath 
Till  the  mirror — is  dry — and  images  death. 
To  give — is  to  live  I 

He — is  dead  whose  hand — is  not  open  wide — 
To  help  the  need — of  a  human  brother ; 

He — dotibles  the  length — of  his  life-long  ride 
"Who  gives  his  fortunate  place — to  another; 

And  a  thousand  m,illion  lives — are  his 

"Who  carries  the  world — in  his  sympathies. 
To  give — is  to  live. 

Throw  gold — to  the  far-dispersing  tvaves, 

And  your  ships — sail  home — with  tons  of  treasure; 

Care  not — for  comfort,  all  danger  brave, 

And  evening — and  age — shall  sup — with  pleasure; 

Fling  health — to  the  sunshine,  wind, — and  rain^ 

And  roses — shall  come  to  the  cheek  again. 
To  deiiy — is — to  die ! 

What  is  wealth  ?     Is  it  health — or  strength  ? 

If  we — (for  humanity's  sake) — will  lose  it, 
We  shall  find  it — a  hundred-/oZc? — at  length; 

While  they  shall  forever  lose  who  refuse  it: 

And  nations — that  save  their  union — and  peace 

At  the  cost  of  right — their  woes — shall  increase. 

They — save — a  grave  I 

LV.— OrE  WEE  WHITE  EOSE.     Massey. 

All  in  our  marriage  garden 

Grew, — (smiling  up — to  God,^ 
A  bonnier  flower — than  ever 

Suck'd  the  green  warmth — of  the  sod; 
Oh,  beautiful, — (unfathomably,) 

Its  little  lips — unfurled ; 
And — crown  of  all  things — was  our  wee 

White  Rose — of  all  the  world. 

From  out  a  balmy  bosom — 

Our  bud — of  beauty — grew; 
It  fed  on  smiles — for  sunshine, 

On  tears — fur  daintier  dew. 


MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION.  3^7 

Aye, — nestling  warm — and  tenderly^ — 

Our  leaves  of  love — were  curled — 
So  close — and  close — about  our  wee 

White  Rose — of  all  the  world. 
"With  mystical — faint  fragrance — 

Our  house  of  life — she  filled; — 
Kevealed — (each  hour) — some  fairy  tower-^ 

Where  winged  hopes — might  build! 
We  saw, — (tho'  none — like  us — might  see,)— 

Such  precious  promise  pearled 
Upon  the  jjetals — of  our  wee 

White  Rose— of  all  the  world. 
But — evermx>re — the  fialo — 

Of  a?i^eWight — increased, — 
Like  the  mystery — of  moonlight — 

Th't  folds — some  fairy  feast. 
Snoiv — white, — snow — soft, — s7iow — silently. 

Our  darling  bud — mp-curled, 
And  dropped — i'  th'  grave, — [Gods  lap,) — our  wee 

White  Rose — of  all  the  world. 
Our  Rose — was  but  in  blossom, 

Our  life — was  but  in  spring, 
When — (down  the  solemn  midnight) — 

We  heard  the  spirit  sing, — 
{^^ Another  bud — of  infancy — 

With  holy  dews  impearled  !") 
And  (in  their  hands) — they  bore— out  wee 

White  Rose — of  all  th'  world. 
You  scarce  could  think — so  small  a  thing- 
Could  leave  a  loss — so  large ; 
Her  little  light — such  shadow  fling — 

From  dawn — to  sunset's  -marge. 
In  other  springs — our  life — may  be — 

In  bannered  bloom — unfurled, 
But  never, — xevkr — match  our  wee 

White  Rose — of  all  the  world. 

LVI.— BLESSINGS  ON  CHILDREN.    SiMMS. 

Blessings — on  the  blessed  children, — sweetest  gifts — of  heaven — to  earth, — 
Filling  all  the  heart — with  gladness, — all  the  house — with  mirth; 
Bringing  with  them — native  sweetness, — pictures — of  the  primal  bloom,,— 
(Which  th'  bliss — forever  gladdens) — of  the  region — whence  they  come; 

Bringing  with  them — joyous  impulse — of  a  state  without  a  care, — 
And  buoyant  faith — in  being — which  makes  all  in  nature  fair  ; 
Not  a  doubt — to  dim  the  distance, — not  a  grief — to  vex  thee  nigh, — 
And  a  hope — th't — in  [existence) — finds  each  hour — a  luxury ; 

Going — singing, — bounding, — brightening, — never  fearing, — (as  they  go,) 
Th't  the  innocent — shall  tremble, — and  the  loving — find  a  foe; 
In  the  daylight, — in  the  starlight, — still  with  thought — th't  freely  flies,— 
Prompt — and  joyous, — with  no  question — of  the  beauty — in  the  skies; 


318  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION, 

Genial  fancies — winning  raptures — as  the  bee — still  sucks  Ler  store, — 

All  th'  present — still  &  garden — gleaned  a  thousand  times — before; 

All  th'  future — but  a  region — where  th'  happy  serving  thought — 

Still  depicts  a  thousand  blessings — by  the  winged  hunter  caught ; 

Life — a  chase  where  blushing  j^leasures — only  seem  to  strive — in  flight, — 

Lingering — to  be  caught, — and  yielding  gladly — to  the  proved  delight; 

As  the  maiden — (thro'  the  allies, — looking  backioard — as  she  flies,) 

Woes  th'  fond  pursuer — onward — with  the  iowe-light — in  the  eyes. 

Oh !  th'  happy  life — in  children, — still  restoring  joy — to  ours, — 

Making — (for  the  forest) — music, — planting — for  the  wayside  flowers; 

Back  recalling — all  the  sweetness, — in  a  pleasure — pure — as  rare, 

Back — the  past — of  hope — and  rapture  bringing — to  the  heart  of  care. 

How, — (as  swell  the  happy  voices, — bursting — thro'  th'  shady  grove,) — 

Memories — take  th'  place  of  sori^ows, — time — restores  th'  sway  to  love ! 

We — are  in  the  shouting  comrades, — shaking  off" — th'  load  of  years. 

Thought — forgetting, — strifes — and  trials, — doichts — and  agonies — and  tears. 

We — are  in  the  bounding  urchin, — as — o'er  hill — and  plain — he  darts, — 

Share  the  struggle — and  the  triiimph, — gladdening — in  his  heart  of  hearts ; 

What  an  image — of  the  vigor — and  th'  glorious  grace — we  knew, — 

When — (to  eager  youth) — from  boyhood — at  a  single  bound — we  grew  ! 

Even  such — our  slender  beauty, — such — upon  oicr  cheeks — th'  glow; 

In  our  eyes — the  life — and  gladness, — of  our  blood — the  overflow. 

Bless — the  mother  of  the  urchin  ! — in  his  form — we  see  her  truth; 

He — is  now — the  very  picture — of  th'  memories — in  our  youth ; 

Never — can  we  doubt  the  forehead, — nor — th'  sunny,  flowing  hair, — 

Nor  th'  smiling — in  the  dimple-speaking  chin — and  cheek — so  fair; 

Bless — the  m,other — of  the  young  one!     He  hath  blended — in  his  grace — 

All  the  hope — and  joy — and  beauty — kindling — once — in  either  face ! 

Oh,  the  happy /ai^A  of  children,  that — is  glad — in  all  it  sees, 

And — with  never  need — of  thinking, — pierces  still — its  mysteries  ! 

In  simplicity  profoundest, — in  their  soul — abundance  blest, 

Wise — in  value  of  the  sportive, — and — (in  restlessness) — at  rest; 

Lacking  every  creed, — yet — having  faith — so  large — in  all  they  see 

Th't  to  know — is  still  to  gladden, — and  't  is  rapture — but  to  be. 

What  trim  fancies — bring  them — flowers!  what  rare  spirits — walk  their  wood! 

What  a  wondrous  world — th'  m.oonUght  harbors — of  th'  gay — and  good! 

Unto  them — th'  very  tempest — walks  in  glories — grateful — still, — 

And  th'  lightniyig  gleams, — (a  seraph)  to  persuade  them — to  th'  hill: 

'Tis  a  sweet — and  soothing  spirit — th't  throughout  th'  midnight  reigns, — 

Broods — beside  the  shuttered  windows, — and  (with  gentle  love) — complains; 

And  how  ivooing, — how  exalting, — (with  th'  richness — of  her  dyes,) 

Spans  the  painter — of  the  rahibow — her  bright  arch — along  th'  skies, — 

With  a  dream, — (like  Jacob's  ladder) — shoiving — (to  th'  fancy's  sight) 

How  'twere  easy — for  the  sad  one — to  escape — to  worlds  of  light! 

Ah !  the  wisdom — of  such  fancies, — and  th'  tnctJi — in  every  dream, 

Th't — (to  faith  confiding) — off'ers, — (cheering  every  gloom,)  a  gleam! 

Happy  hearts — still  cherish — (fondly)  each  delusion  of  your  youth; 

Joy — is  born  of  well  believing, — and  the  fiction — wraps  th'  truth. 


MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION.  319 

LVII.— TKUE  LOVE  BINDS  SOUL  AND  BODY. 

True  love 's — th'  gift — th't  God — hath  given — 

T'  man — alone — beneath  th'  heavens. 

It  is  th'  secret  sy^npathy, — 

Th'  silver  chord, — the  silken  tie — 

"Which — [heart — t'  heart — and  mind — t'  mind) — 

In  body — and  in  soul — can  bind. 

No ;  let  the  ea^rZe— change  his  plume, 
Th'  leaf — its  Mie, — th'  flower — its  bloom; 
But  ties — around  th'  heart — were  spun 
That  COM W  not, — would  not — be  undone. 

«  «  %  4|t  %  «  « 

What  I  am  without  thee  I 
A  BABK — (at  midnight) — sent — alone— 

T'  drift — upon  a  moonless  sea, — 
A  lute — whose  leading  chord — is  gone, — 
A  wounded  bird — th't  has  but  one — 
Imperfect  wing — t'  soar  upon, — 

Is  like — what  /  am — without  thee. 

Th'  mind — th't  would  be  happy — must  he. great; 
Great — in  its  wishes, — great — in  its  surveys  ; 
Extended  views — a  narrow  mind — extend. 

LVIII.— THE  YAKIOUS  KOADS  TO  FAME.     Pollok. 

Many — the  roads — men  took,  the  plans — they  tried. 

The  man  of  science — to  the  shade  retired, 

And  laid  his  head — upon  his  ha7id, — in  mood — 

Of  awful  thoughifulness, — and  dived — and  dived 

Again, — deeper — and  deeper  still, — to  sound 

The  cause  remote ;  resolved — (before  he  died) 

To  make — some  grand  discovery  by  which — 

He  should  be  known — to  all  posterity. 

And  (in  the  silent  vigils — of  the  night, 

"When  M?z-inspired  men — reposed,) — the  bard, 

(Ghastly  of  coicntenance, — and  from  his  eye — 

Oft  streaming  roild, — unearthly ^re,) — sat  up 

And  sent  his  imagination  forth, — and  searched 

The  far — and  n^ar, — heaven, — earth, — and  gloomy  hell. 

For  fiction  new, — for  thought — j^n-thought — before; 

And  when  some  curious, — rare  idea — peered 

Upon  his  m.ind — he  dipped  his  hastj  pen, — 

And  (by  the  glimmering  lamp — or  moonlight  beam 

Th't  through  his  lattice  peeped) — wrote  fondly  down 

What  seemed — in  truth — imperishable  song. 

And  sometimes  too — the  reverend  divine. 


320  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

(In  meditation  deep — of  holy  things 
And  vanities — of  time,) — heard  Fame^s  sweet  voice- 
Approach  his  ear, — and  hung  another  flower — 
(Of  earthly  sort)  about  the  sacred  truth, 
And  ventured — (whiles)  to  m,ix — the  bitter  text 
"With  relish — suited  to  the  sinner^s  taste. 
And  ofttimes — too — the  simple  hind, — (who  seemed 
Ambitionless, — arrayed  in  humble  garb, 
While  round  him — spreading — fed  his  harmless  Jlocic,) 
Sitting — was  seen — by  some  wild — warbling  brook^ 
Carving  his  na7ne — upon  his  favorite  staj', 
Or  in  ill-favored  letters — tracing  it — 
Upon  the  aged  thorn, — or  on  the  face — 
Of  some  conspicuous — oft-frequented  stone, 
"With  persevering, — wondrous  industry; 
And  hojnng — as  he  toiled  amain,  and  saw 
The  characters — taking  form — some  other  wight,— 
Long  after  he  was  dead — and  in  his  grave, 
Should  loiter  there — at  noon  and  read  his  name. 

LIX.— EAKTHLY  EEPUTATION.     Pollok. 

In  purple — some, — and  some — in  rags, — stood  forth 

For  reputation.     Some — displaj^ed  a  limb — 

'WeW-fashioned ;  some, — (of  lowlier  mind,) — a  cane— 

Of  curious  workmanship — and  marvelous  twist. 

In  strength — some — sought  it,  and  in  beauty — more. 

Long, — long, — the  fair  one — labored  at  the  glass, 

And  (being  tired,)  called  in  auxiliar  skill, 

To  have  her  sails  (before  she  went  abroad) 

Full  spread, — and  nicely  set — to  catch  the  gale 

Of  praise ;  and  tnuch — she  caught, — and  much — deserved. 

When  outward  loveliness^was  index  fair 

Of  purity — within.     But  oft, — alas ! 

The  bloom — was  on  the  skin — alone;  and  when 

She  saw, — (sad  sight!)  the  roses — on  her  cheek — 

Wither, — and  heard  the  voice  of  Fame  retire — 

And  die  away, — she  heaved  most  piteous  sighs, 

And  wept — most  lamentable  tears;  and  while 

In  wild  delirium  made  rash  attempt, 

(Unholy  mimicry — of  nature^ s  work!) 

To  re-create — (with  frail — and  mortal  things) 

Her  withered  face.     Attempt — how  fond — and  vain! 

Her  frame — itself  soon  mouldered — down  to  dust; 

And  in  the  land — of  deep  forgetfulness — 

Her  beauty — and  her  name — were  laid — beside 

Eternal  silence — and  the  loathsome  worm. 

Into  whose  darkness — flattery — ventured  not. 

Where  none — had  ears — to  hear  the  voice — of  Fame. 


MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION.  321 

LX.— THE  OLD  CLOCK  ON  THE  STAIRS.     Longfellow. 

Somewhat  hack — from  tlie  village  street 
Stands  the  oW-fasiiioned  cuu)itry-&iii\t\ 
Across  its  antique  jmrtico 
Tall  poplar-tvccs — their  shadows  throw; 
And  (from  its  station — in  the  hall) 
An  ancient  <i»ie-piece — says — to  all, — 
^^Forever — never  !    Never — forever !  " 

Half-icay — \\\)-stairs — it  stands, 

And  points  and  beckons — with  its  hands 

From  its  case — of  massive  oak, 

Like  a  ')nonk  who,  (under  his  cloak,) 

Crosses  himself,  and  sighs,  alas! 

With  sorrowful  voice — to  all  who  pass, — 

Forever — never  !    Never — forever  I 

By  day — its  voice — is  lo^o  and  light; 

But — in  the  silent  dead — of  night. 

Distinct — as  a  passing  footstep's  fall, 

It  echoes — along  the  vacant  hall, 

Along  the  ceiling, — along  the  floor. 

And  seems  to  say — (at  each  chamber  door,) — 

'  '■Forever — never  !     Never — forever ! ' ' 

Through  days  of  sorrow — and  of  mirth, 
Through  days  of  death — and  days  of  birth, 
Through  every  swift  vicissitude 
Of  changeful  time,  unchanged — it  has  stood; 
And  as  if,  (like  God,) — it  all  things  saw. 
It  calmly  repeats — those  words  of  awe, — 
Forever — never  I    Never — forever  I 

In  that  mansio7i — used  to  be' 
i^ree-hearted — Hospitality : 
His  great  fires — up  the  chimney  roared ; 
The  stranger — feasted  at  his  board; 
But,  (like  the  skeleton — at  the  feast,) 
That  warning  <ime-piece — never  ceased, — 
^^Forever — never  !    Never — forever ! " 

There — groups — of  merry  children  played, — 

There — youths — and  tnaidens — dreaming — strayed; 

O  precious  hours  !  O  golden  prime ! 

And  affluence — of  love — and  time 

Even  as  a  tniser — counts  his  gold 

Those  hours — the  ancient  ^twe-piece  told, — 

'  '■Forever — never  !    Never — forever ! ' ' 

From  that  chamber, — (clothed  in  white,) 
The  bride — came  forth — on  her  wedding-night] 
21 


322  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION. 

There, — (in  that  gilent  voom^r—helow,) 
The  dead  lay — in  his  shroud  of  snow, 
And  (in  the  hush — th't  followed  the  prayer) 
Was  hoard — the  old  clock — on  the  stair, — 
'■'■Foreve) — never !    Never — -forever  !  " 

All — are  scattered — tiow  and  Jled; 
Some — are  married, — some — are  dead! 
And  when  I  ask,  (with  throbs  of  pain,) 
"Ah !  vihen — shall  they  all  meet  again  ?  " 
As  in  the  days — long  since  gone  by. 
The  ancient  ^ime-piece — makes  reply, — 
^^Forecer — never  !    Never — -forever  I " 

Never — ?iere, — -forever — there ! 

Where  all  parting,  pain,  and  care, 

And  deat}i — and  time — shall  disappear ; — 

Forever — there, — but  never — here  ! 

The  horologue — of  eternity — 

Sayeth  this — incessantly, — 

'■'Forever — never !    Never — -forever ! " 

LXI.— EARTHLY  AMBITION  VAIN.    Pollok. 

Many — the  roads — men  took, — the  plans — they  tried, 

And  aicftd — oft  the  ivickedness — they  wrought. 

To  be  observed, — some — scrambled  up  to  thrones, 

And  sat  in  vestures — dripping  wet — with  gore. 

The  WARRIOR — dipped  his  words — in  blood, — and  wrote 

His  name — on  lands — and  cities — desolate. 

The  RICH — bought  fields, — and  houses  built, — and  raised 

The  monumental  piles — up  to  the  clouds, 

And  called  them — by  their  names;  and, — [strange — to  tell,) 

Kather  than  be  unknoivn, — and  pass  away — 

Obscurely — to  the  grave, — some — (small  of  soul, 

That  else — had  perished — unobserved,)  acquired 

Considerable  renown — by  oaths  profane; 

By  jesting  boldly — with  sacred  things. 

And  uttering — -fearlessly,  whate'er  occurred, 

Wild, — blasphemous, — jjerditionable  thoughts 

Th't  Satan — in  them  moved;  by  iciser  men — 

Supj)ressed — and  quickly  banished — from  the  mhid. 

]\Ia?iy — the  y^oads  thej'  took, — the  plans  they  tried; 

But  all — in  vain.     Who  grasped — at  earthly  fame — 

Grasped  wind;  nay  worse, — a  serpent  grasped,  th't  through 

His  hand — slid  smoothly, — and  was  gone;  but  left 

A  sting  behind, — which  wrought  him — endless  pain. 

For  oft — her  voice — was  old  Abaddon's  lure. 

By  which — he  charmed  the  foolish  soul — to  death  t 


MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTIOX.  323 

LXII.— INTERVIEW  BETWEEN  YOUTH  AND  SORROW.     Mackay. 

"Get  thee  back, — Sorrow,  get  thee  bach! 

My  broio — is  smooth, — mine  eyes — are  bright, 
My  limbs — are  full  of  healih  and  strength, — 

Mj-  cheeks — are  fresh, — my  heart — is  light; — 
So  get  thee  back !     Oh  !  get  thee  back  ! 

Consort  with  age, — but  not  with  me; 
Why — should' St  thou  follow  on  my  track  f 

I  am  too  young — t'  live  with  tliee." 

"O  foolish  youth! — t'  scorn  thy  friend! 

T"  harin  thee — wherefore — should  I  seek  f 
I  would  not  dim — thy  sparkling  eyes, — 

Nor  blight — th'  roses — on  thy  cheek : 
I  would  but  teach  thee — to  be  time; 

And — should  I  press  thee — overmuch, — 
Ever — th'  flowers — that  /  bedew — 

Yield  sweetest  fragrance — t'  th'  touch." 

"  Get  thee  back, — Sorrow, — get  thee  back  ! 

I  like  thee  not;  thy  looks — are  chill; 
Th'  sunshine — lies  upon  my  heart, — 

Thoti — showest  me  th'  shadow — still. 
So  get  thee  back !     Oh,  get  thee  back  J 

Nor  touch  my  golden  locks — with  gray. 
Why — should'st  thou  folloia — on  my  track  ? 

Let  me  be  happy — while  I  may." 

"  Good  friend, — thou  necdest — sage  advice  ; 

I'll  keep  thy  heart — from  gvo\\\ng  proudf — 
I  ^11  fill  thy  mind — with  kindly  thoughts, — 

And  link  thy  2>ity — t'  the  crowd. 
Wouldst  have  a  heart — of  pulseless  stone ? 

Would'st  be  too  happy — to  be  good? 
Nor  make  a  human  woe — thine  own, — 

Por  sake — of  human  brotherhood?" 

"Get  thee  back, — Sorrow, — get  thee  back! 

Why — should  I  loeep — while  I  am  young? 
I  have  not  piped, — I  have  not  danced, — 

My  morning  songs — I  have  not  siing : 
Th'  world — is  beautiful  t'  me, — 

AVhy  tarnish  it — to  sotd — and  sense  ? 
Prithee — begone!     I'll  think  of  thee — 

Some  half  a  hundred  winters — hence." 

"O — foolish  yoicih! — thou  knovi'st  me  not; 

I — am  th'  mistress — of  the  earth ; — 
'T  is  / — give  tenderness — t'  love ; 

Enhance — th'  2^1'ivilege — of  mirth,— 


324  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

Eefine  the  human  gf)ld — from  dross, 
And  teach  thee, — [^wurniLing — of  th'  sod,) — 

T'  look  beyond — thy  present  loss — 
T'  thy  eternal  gain — with  G'orf." 

"Get  thee  back, — Sorro'o, — get  thee  back! 

I  '11  learn  thy  lessons — soon  enough; 
If  virtue's  pleasure — smooth  my  loay, — 

Why — shouldst  thou  seek — to  make  it  rough  ? 
No  fruit — can  ripen — in  th'  dark, — 

No  bud — can  bloom — in  consta?it  cold; 
So — prithee, — Sorrow, — miss  thy  mark, — 

Or  strike  me  not — till  I  am  old." 

"  I — am  thy  friend, — thy  host  of  friends; 

JVo  bud — in  constant  heat — can  blow; — 
Th'  grecti  fruit — luithers — in  th'  drought, — 

But  ripens — where  th'  waters  flow. 
Th'  sorrows — of  thy  youtfful  day — 

Shall  make  thee  wise — in  coining  years; 
Th'  brightest  rainbows — ever  play — 

Above  th'  fountains — of  our  tears." 

Youth — frowned, — but  Sorrow — gently  smiled ; 

Upon  his  heart — her  hand  she  laid, — 
And  all  its  hidden  sympathies — 

Throbbed — t'  th'  fingers  —of  th'  m,aid. 
And  when  his  head — grew  gray — with  time 

He  owned — th't  Sorrow — spoke  th'  ti'uth, — 
And  th't  th'  harvest — of  his  j^t'hne — 

Was  ripened — by  th'  rains — of  youth. 

LXIII.— rOEGIVE  AND  FOKGET.     Tupper. 

When  streams — of  unkiiidness  as  bitter — as  gall 

Bubble  up — from  the  heart — to  the  tongue. 
And  Meekness — is  writhing — in  torment — and  thrall, 

By  the  hands — of  Ingratitude — wrung, — 
In  the  heat — of  injustice,  uiiwept — and  unfair, 

While  the  anguish — is  festering — yet, 
None,  NONE — but  an  angel  of  God — can  declare, — 

"  I  now — can  forgive — and — forget." 

But  if  the  bad  spirit — is  chased  from  the  heart. 

And  the  lips — are  in  penitence — steeped, 
With  the  wrong  so  repented — the  wrath — will  depart. 

Though  scorn  or  injustice — were  heaped; 
For  the  best  compensation — is  paid  for  all  ill 

When  the  cheek — with  contrition — is  wet, 
And  every  one — feels  it  is  possible — still 

At  once — to  forgive — and  forget. 


MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION.  325 

To  forget?     It  is  hard — for  a  tnan — with  a  mind, 

However  his  heart  may  forgive, 
To  blot  out — all  insults — and  evils — behind, 

And  but  for  the  future — to  live. 
Then  hotv — shall  it  be 'J  for  at  every  turn 

Recollection — the  spirit — will  fret, 
And  the  ashes — of  injury — smolder — and  burn, 

Though  we  strive — to  forgive — and  forget. 

Oh,  hearken!  my  tongue  shall  the  riddle — unseal, 

And  mind — shall  be  partner — with  heart, 
While  thee  to  thyself — I  bid  conscience  reveal, 

And  shoio  thee — how  evil — thou  art: 
Kcmember — thy  follies,  thy  sins,  and — thy  crimes; 

How  vast — is  that  infinite  debt! 
Yet  Mercy — hath  seven — by  seventy  times 

Been  swift — to  forgive — and  forget! 

Brood  not  on  insults — or  injuries  old, 

For  thou — art  injurious — too; — 
Count  not  their  sum — till  the  total— h  told, 

For  thoic — art  unkind — and  untrue ; 
And  if  all  thy  harms — are  forgotten, — forgiven, 

Now  Mercy — with  Justice — is  met; 
Oh,  who  would  not  gladly — take  lessons — of  heaven, 

Nor  learn  to  forgive — and  forget  ? 

Yes,  yes;  let  a  man  when  his  enemy — weeps 

Be  quick — to  receive  him — a  friend; 
For  thus — on  his  head — in  kindness  he  heaps 

Hot  coals — to  refine — and  amend; 
And  hearts — th't  are  Christian  more  eagerly  yearn, 

(As  a  nurse — on  her  innocent  pet,) 
Over  lips  th't  once — bitter — to  penitence  turn. 

And  whisper — [forgive — and  forget.) 

LXIV.— THE  GEAVE  OF  FKANKLIN.    Waterman. 

No  chisel'd  tirn — is  rear'd  t'  thee; 

No  sculptured  scroll — enrolls  its  page — 
T'  tell — th'  children' — of  th'  free — 

Where — rests  th'  j^atriot — and  th'  sage. 

Far — in  th'  city — of  th'  dead — 

A  corner — holds  thy  sacred  clay  ; 
And  pilgrim  feet, — (by  reverence — led,) — 

Have  worn  a  path — th't  marks  th'  way. 

There — round  thy  lone — and  simple  grave, — 

(Encroaching — on  its  marble  gray,) — 
W^ild  plantain  weeds — and  tall  grass  wave, — 

And  sunbeams — pour  their  shadelcss  ray. 


326  MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION. 

Level — with  earth — thy  letter'd  stone, — 
(And  hidden — oft — by  winter's  snow,) — 

Its  modest  record — tells — alone — 

Whose  dust — it  is — th't  sleeps — below* 

That  name 's — enough, — that  honored  name — 

No  aid — from  eulogy — requires : 
'Tis  blended — with  thy  country's  fame, — 

And  flashes  round — her  lightning  spires ! 

LX v.- TO-DAY  AND  TO-MOREOW.     M asset. 

High  ho2^es — tli't  burn'd — like  stars  sublime 

Go  doivn — in  the  heavens — of  freedom^ 
And  true  hearts — perish — in  the  time 

We  bitter liesi — need  'em ! 
But  never — sit  we  down — and  say, 

There  's  nothing  left — but  sorrow : 
"We  walk  the  luilderness — To-day  ; 

The  promised  land — To-morrow. 

Our  birds  of  song — are  silent — tiow  ; — 

There  are  no  flowers — blooming ; 
Yet  life — beats  in  the  frozen  bough. 

And  freedom's  spring — is  coming! 
And  freedom's  tide-~-comes  up  ahvny, 

Tliough  lue — may  stand  in  sorrow, 
And  our  good  bark, — aground — To-day, 

Shall  float — again — To-morroiu. 

Through  all  the  long, — dark  night — of  years — 

The  people s  cry — aseendcth, 
And  earth — is  wet — with  blood — and  tears  ; 

But  our  meek  sufferance — endcth. 
The  feio — shall  n  ot — iovever  sway — 

The  many — moil — in  sorrow : 
The  powers — of  liell — are  strong — To-day, 

But — Christ — shall  rise — To-morrow. 

Though  hearts — brood  o'er  the^jas;', — our  eyes — • 

With  smiling  futures — glisten. 
For  lo!  our  day — bursts  up  the  skies; 

Lean  out  your  soids, — and  listen ! 
The  'world — rolls  frecdonis  radiant  way, 

And  ripens — with  her  sorrow: 
Keep  heart !  who  bear — the  cross — To-day 

Shall  wear — the  croivn — To-morroiv. 

*  Franklin's   body  lies   in   Christ   Church   burying-ground,  corner  of  Mulberry  and  Fifth 
Streets,  Philadelphia,  Pa.     The  flat  worn  stone  is  inscribed  thus : 

BENJAMIN") 

AND  \  FRANKLIN. 

DEBORAH  J         1770. 


^ 


MANUAL   OF   ELOCUTION.  327 

O  youth!  yfame-earnest — still  aspire, 

With  energU's  immortal ! 
To  many  a  heaven — of  desire 

Our  yearning — opes  a  portal! 
And  thu'  Age — wearies  by  the  way, 

And  hearts — break — in  the  furroio, 
We'll  sow — the  golden  grain — To-day^ — 

The  harvest — comes — To-mon'Oio. 

Build  up — heroic  lives,  and  all — 
Be — like  a  sheathen  saber, 

Eeady  to  flash  out — at  Gods  call, 
O — chivalry — of  Labor  ! 

Triwmj^h — and  Toil — are  tivins :  and  aye- 
Joy — suns  the  cloud  of  Sorroio; 

And — 't  is  the  martyrdom — To-day 
Brings  victory — To-morrow. 

LXYI.--WOOED  AND  WON:  THE  BLISS  OF  LIFE.     Masset. 

The  plow  of  time — breaks  up  our  Eden-land, — 

And  tramples  down — its  fruitful — flowery  ^rime  ; 

Yet  (through  the  dust  of  ages) — living  shoots, — 

(Oh,  the  old — immortal  seed,)  start — in  the  furroios; 

And — (where  love — looketh  on — with  glorious  eye) 

These  quicken'd  germs — of  everlastingness — 

Flower  lusty,  as  of  old — in  Paradise ! 

And  blessings — on  the  starry  chance — of  love! 

And  blessings — on  the  m.orn — of  merry  May  ! 

Th't  led  my  footsteps — to  your  beechen  bower. 

Thus — hangs  the  jyicture — in  my  mind, — sweet  wife! 

Rich — as  a  Millais — in  its  tint — and  to7ie. 

Nature^flash' d  by  me — with  her  glorious  shows; 

The  birds — were  singing — on  the  blossoming  boughs. 

With  love's  sweet  tnystery — stirring  at  their  hearts, — 

Like  first  s/^Hw^r-motions  in  the  veins  o{  Jioicers. 

A  light  of  green — laughed  up  the  shining  hills, 

Which  rounded — thro'  the  mellowing — gloating  air, 

As  their  big  hearts — heaved  to  some  heart  beyond, — 

Or  strove — (with  inner  yearnings) — for  the  crown 

Of  purple  rondure — smiling  there — in  heaven! 

The  flowers — were  forth — in  all  their  conquering  beauty, — 

A.nA,^{icinliing — in  their  mother  Earth's  old  face,) 

Said — all  her  children — should  have  happy  hearts. 

Deeper — and  deeper — in  the  tvoods  green  gloom — 

I  nestled — for  the  fever — of  life's  core  : 

And  thirstily — my  heart — was  drinking  in 

Eich  overflovnngs — of  some  Cushat's  love ; 

When— ^asA  /  the  air — instinct  with  splendors  grew, 

As  if  the  world, — (while  on  her  si&vvy  joicrney,) — 

Had  suddenly— floated — in  the  clime  of  heaven. 


328  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 

Upon  a  pi'imrose  bank — you  sat, — a  sight — 

To  couch — the  old — blind  sorrow  of  my  soiUf 

A  sweet — new  blossom — of  humaniiy, — 

Fresh  fallen — from  God's  own  home — to  flower — on  earth. 

A  golden  burst — of  sunbeams — glinted  through 

The  verdurous  roofs — ^wsA-leafy  greenery. 

And — on  you — dropped  its  crown — of  Ihnng  light. 

Your  eyes, — (half  shut, — while  thro'  their  silken  eaves 

Trembled  the  secret  sweetness — hid  at  heart,) — 

Oped  sudden — at  full — and  wide — wonderment ! 

The  sweetest  eyes — that  ever  drank  sun — for  soul: 

As  subtly  tender — as  a  summer  heaven, 

Brimm'd  with  the  beauty — of  a  starry  night! 

Your  face, — so  dewy  fresh — and  wond'rous  fair, 

Kindled — and  lightened — as  the  coming  god — 

Were  laboring — [upward) — thro'  its  birth  oi  fire! 

The  fleetest  swallow-Ai^ — of  a  tender  smile 

Ran  round  your  mouth — in  thrillings;  while  your  cheek, 

Dimpled — (as  from  the  arch  lovers  finger-T^rmi,) 

Outflew  his  signal — fluttering — in  a  blush! 

And  when  your  voice — broke  up  the  air — for  music — 

It  smote — upon  my  startled  heart — as  smites 

The  7iew-\>oYn  h&\>&'?:— first  cry — a  mother's  ear; — 

Yet  strangely  touched — some  mystic  memory, — 

And  dimly  seemed — some  old  familiar  sound. 

That  day, — (with  an  immortalizing  kiss,) 

You  crowned  me — monarch — of  your  rich  Aear^-world, 

Which  heaved  a  boundless  sea  of  love, — whose  tides 

Kan  radiant  pulsings — thro'  your  rosy  limbs. 

How  the  ^ore-lights — did  float  up — into  your  eyes, 

Like  virgin  stains — from  violet  depths  of  night ! 

Dear  eyes  !  all  craving — with  love's  ache — and  hufiger  I 

And  all  the  spirit — stood  in  your  face — athirst! 

And — (from  the  rose-cup — of  your  murmuring  mouth) 

Sweetness  o'erflow'd — as  from  a  fragrant  fount. 

O  ]<iss — of  life !  that  oped — our  Eden^worlA ! 

The  harvest — of  an  age's  wealth  of  bliss 

In  that  first  kiss — was  reajjcd — in  07ie  rich  minute! 

The  wanton  aii^s — came  breathhig — like  the  touch 

Of  fragrant  lips — th't  feed  the  blood — with  fiame! 

The  very  earth — seemed  bursting  up, — and  heaven 

Clung  round, — and  clasped  us — as  in  glowing  arms, 

To  crush  the  loine — of  all  your  ripen'd  beauty, 

(Which  were  a  fitting  sacrament — for  death,) — 

Into  a  cosily  cup — of  life — for  me  1 


MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION.  329 


LXVIT.— PICTUEES  HANGING  ON  MEMORY'S  WALL.     Carey. 

Among  the  beautiful  pictures  th't  hang  on  memorizes  wall 

Is  one — of  a  dim — old  forest, — th't  seemeth  best — of  all: 

Not — for  its  gnarled  oaks — olden, — dark — with  th'  mistletoe, — 

Nor — for  th'  violets  golden — that  sprinkle  th'  vale — below; 

Not — for  th'  millv-white  lilies — that  lean  from  the  fragrant  hedge, — 

Coquetting — (all  day)  with  th'  sunbcayns  and  stealing — their  golden  edge; — 

Nor — for  th'  vines  on  the  upland — where  th'  bright — red  berries  rest, — 

Nor  th'  pinks, — nor  th'  jjale — sweet  cowslip — it  seemeth  to  me  th'  best. 

I  once — had  a  little  brotlicr, — with  eyes — th't  were  dark — and  deep; — 

In  th'  lap — of  the  old — dim  forest — he  lieth — (in  peace) — asleep. 

Light — as  the  doicn — of  th'  thistle, — free — as  the  winds — th't  blow, — 

We  roved  there  tli'  beautiful  sum->ners, — (th'  summers — of  long  ago;') 

But  his  feet — (on  th'  hills) — grew  weary, — and — (one  of  th'  autumn  eves)^ 

I  made — (for  my  little  brother)  a  bed — of  th'  yellow  leaves. 

Sweetly — his  pale  arms — folded  my  neck — in  a  meek  embrace, — 
As  th'  light — of  immortal  beauty — silently — covered  his  face: 
And — (when  the  arrows  of  sunset — lodged  in  the  ^ree-top's  height) — 
He  fell, — (in  his  saint-like  beauty,) — asleep — by  th'  gates — of  light  I 
Therefore — of  all  the  pictures — th't  hang — on  m.emory's  wall — 
The  one — of  the  dim — old  forest — seemeth — th'  best — of  all. 


LXVIII.— THE  LAST  LEAF,  OR  THE  OLD  MAN.    Holmes. 

I  saw  him  once — before,  as  he  passed  by  th'  door, — and  again — 
Th'  pavem.ent-&iQne?,  resound,  as  he  loiters — o'er  the  ground,  with  his  cane. 
They  say — th't  in  his  prime, — ere  th'  pruning-knife  of  time — cut  him  down, 
Not  a  better  man — was  found — by  the  crier — on  his  round  thro'  the  town. 

But  7101V — he  walks  th'  streets, — and  he  looks  at  all  he  meets,  sad — and  wan, — 
And   he   shakes — his  feeble  head, — th't  it  seems — as  if  he  said, — ("They  are 

go?ie.'") 
Th'  mossy  marbles — rest— i-on  th'  lips — th't  he  has  pressed — in  their  bloom, 
And  th'  names — he  loved — to  liear — have  been  carved — for  m.any  a  year  on  th' 

tomb. 

My  grandmamma — has  said — {jmor  old  lady — she  is  dead — long  ago) — 
That  he  had  a  Jiornan  nose, — and  his  cheek — was  like  a  rose — in  th'  snow. 
But  710W — his  nose  is  thin, — and  it  rests — upon  his  chhi — like  a  staff, — 
And  a  crook — is  in  his  back — and  a  melancholy  crack — in  his  laugh. 

I  know — it  is  a  si7i — for  ?ne — t'  sit — and  gi-in  at  him — here ; 

Yet  the  old — ^/o-ee-cornered  hat, — and  th'  breeclies, — and  all  that — are  so  queer! 
And  if  / — should  live  to  be  th'  last  leaf — upon  th'  tree — in  th'  spring, — 
Let  them  smile — as  /  do  now — at  the  old  forsaken  bough — where  I  cling. 


330  MANUAL  OF   ELOCUTION. 


LXIX.— THE  CHRISTIAN  RULEE.    Pollok. 

niusirious, — too, — that  morning — stood  the  man — 
Exalted  by  tha  people — to  throne 
Of  government, — established — on  the  base  of 
Justice, — liberty, — and  equal  right; 
Who  in  his  comitcnaiice  sublime — expressed 
A  7iation's  majesty, — and  yet — was  tncek — 
And  humble ;  and — in  royal  palace — gave 
Example — to  the  meanest — of  the  fear 
Of  God, — and  all  integrity — of  life — 
And  m,anners;  who, — august — yet  lowly, — who — 
Severe — yet  gracious, — in  his  very  heart — ■ 
Detesting  all  oppression, — all  intent — 
Of  2'>i''-vate  aggrandizement,  and  (the  first — 
In  every  2^ubtic  duty,) — held  the  scales 
0£  justice, — and,  as  the  law — (which  reigned  in  him) 
''  Coinmanded, — gave  rewards,  or  with  the  edge 
Vindictive  smote, — now — light, — now  heavily, — 
According  to  the  stature — of  the  crime. 
Conspicuous, — like  an  oak — (of  healthiest  bough,) 
Deep-rooted — in  his  country's  love, — he  stood, — 
And  gave  his  hand  to  Virtue, — helping  up 
The  honest  man — to  honor — and  rejioion. 
And  (with  the  look — which  goodness  wears — in  ivrath) 
Withering — the  very  blood — of  knavery, — 
And  from  his  presence — driving  far — ashamed. 


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found  in  the  body  of  the  work,  the  author  has  grouped  according  to  their  genus 
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In  the  New  First  School  Reader  the  lessons  are  so  arranged  that  the 
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in  these  lessons  is  simple  and  natural,  such  as  every  child  understands.  But, 
though  the  language  is  simple,  it  is  accurate.  There  are  no  awkward  inver- 
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The  New  Second  School  Reader  contains  a  systematic  course  of  exercises 
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The  lessons  in  Butler's  New  Third  School  Reader  are  such  as  to  excite 
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instill  into  his  mind  a  love  of  nature,  and  to  train  him  to  think  and  observe. 
This  Reader  contains  a  well-arranged  course  of  exercises  on  the  consonant- 
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of'  sfieech  and  their  inflections.  More  reliance  is  placed  on  the  exercises  than  on  the 
definitions.  It  is  recommended  to  the  teacher  that,  m  addition  to  the  examples  and  illus- 
trations, he  should  take  some  simple  reading-book,  and  give  his  pupils  thorough  practice  in 
distinguishing  the  parts  of  speech,  eases,  moods,  tenses,  etc.  The  First,  .Second,  and  Third 
School  Readers,  by  Noble  Butler,  are  well  a<lapted  to  this  purpose,  all  the  lessons  having  been 
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The  notable  features  of  this  (Grammar  are  the  mode  of  treating  adjectives,  pronouns, 
verbs,  prepositions,  and  adverbs  in  the  etymology  ;  the  syntax  ;  and  the  "  Parsing  E.Kercises  " 
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writers;  and  they  are  regularly  arranged  according  to  the  rules  and  remarks  in  the  syntax. 
Thus  every  principle  is  illustrated  by  quotations  from  the  best  authorities.  Difficulties  are 
removed  by  notes  at  the  bottom  of  the  page.  In  the  first  edition  new  names  were  given  to 
the  tenses  and  an  apology  was  offered  therefor ;  but  these  names  have  found  so  mucli  favor 
with  the  best  grammarians  that  the  apology  is  no  longer  needed. 


LATIN   GRAMMAR: 

A  COMPENDIOUS  MANUAL  FOR  SCHOOLS  AND  COLLEGES. 

By  HENRY   M.  BRUNS,  LL.  D. 

Professor  of  Ancient  Languages  and  Classical  Literature  in  the  College  of  Charleston,  S.  C. 

212  pages,  12mo. 

The  result  of  forty  years'  experience  in  teaching  the  Latin  language,  this  book  is 
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subjects  is  philosophical  and  thorough;  the  definitions  are  simple  and  exact.  While  the 
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versification  and  elaborately  discusses  all  the  metres  of  Horace  and  other  poets  ;  its  mastery 
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In  an  .Appendix  "are  contained  convenient  Tables  of  Case  and  Tense-endings  of  all  the 
declensions  of  noims  and  adjectives  and  the  conjugations  of  verbs.  Also  is  found  a  complete 
list  of  idl  Irregular  Verbs,  classed  according  to  their  termination.  Gendeh  Rut.Es  are  given 
in  verse,  which,  though  it  may  not  possess  the  polish  of  a  Tennyson  or  Longfellow,  will  be 
found  musical,  and  will  greatly  assist  the  pupil  in  acquiring  and  retaining  a  knowledge  of  the 
gender  of  nouns. 

f^f"  The  Prosody  "  will  he  nicely  bound,  and  may  be  bought  separately  at  half  the  price 
of  Bruns"s  Grammar,  by  those  who  can  not  at  once  cliange  the  book  they  are  using. 

•■:=,..=;■  The  publishers  offer  these  books  for  introduction  and  use  in  the  schools  throughout 
the  country  on  the  most  favorable  terms.  Specimen  copies  for  examination  will  be  sent  on 
receipt  of  half  the  respective  retail  prices. 

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BRONSON'S  MANUAL  OF  ELOCUTION: 

EMBRACING   THE 

PHILOSOPHY  OF  VOCALIZATION, 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  AND  EXERCISES  FOR  DRILL  IN  ALL  THE  ARTS  OF  READING 
AND  DECLAMATION. 

Edited  by  Mrs.  LAURA  IVf.  BRONSON. 
Cloth.     330  pages,  8vo. 

The  veteran  and  well-known  elocutionist,  Professor  C.  P.  Bronson,  left  at  his  death  a  large 
quantity  of  manuscript,  embracing  matter  on  all  the  principles  involved  in  voice-culture, 
reading,  and  speaking.  It  was  found  upon  exainitiation  that  much  condensation  and  arrange- 
ment of  these  papers  were  necessary.  This  has  been  a  labor  requiring  time,  care,  and 
experience.    The  result  is  now  before  the  public. 

The  work  treats  of  the  principles  of  Elocution  in  accordance  with  Phj'siological  and 
Mental  Science;  and  contains  selections  for  readings  with  the  emphatic  words  and  rhetorical 
pauses  indicated.  It  is  eminently  philosophical,  and  is  a  proper  te.Kt-book  for  both  teacher 
and  pupil.  Nothing  but  what  has  been  proved  to  be  altogether  essential  lias  found  place  in 
this  work. 


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360  pages.     Price  $1.00. 

This  book  is  designed  for  young  pupils.  Accordingly  the  pieces  arc  generally  short,  and 
composed  of  short  sentences.  The  subjects  are  familiar,  and  within  the  .«cope  of  the  young 
understanding.  The  topics  are  mostly*fresh,  and  the  selections  varied.  The  dialogues'are  of 
simple  structure  and  moderate  length,  and  are  easy  of  comprehension.  Some  pieces  are  in- 
serted of  more  elevated  character,  chiefly  on  patriotic  subjects,  from  such  authors  as  Webster, 
Prentiss,  Everett,  etc. 

For  a  full  and  systematic  course  of  instruction  and  practice  in  the  principles  of  Elocution, 
reference  is  made  to  Bronson's  Elocution,  to  which  this  little  book  is  subsidiary. 


ORIGINAL    DRAMAS, 

DIALOGUES,    DECLAMATIONS,    AND   TABLEAUX  -  VIVANS,   FOR  SCHOOL   EXHIBI- 
TIONS, MAY-DAY  CELEBRATIONS,  AND  PARLOR  THEATRICALS. 

By  Mrs.  RUSSELL  KAVANAUGH. 

252  pages.     Price,  90  cents. 

The  author,  during  the  several  years  in  which  she  had  charge  of  a  school,  experienced 
difficulty  in  procuring  dialogues  suitable  for  the  customary  annual  exhibitions,  and  therefore 
from  time  to  time  wrote  out  plays  adapted  to  the  tastes  and  capacities  of  her  pupils.  A  col- 
lection of  these  pieces  in  their  present  form  is  her  contribution  to  the  literature  of  our  schools. 
As  the  dramas  contained  in  this  book  are  simple,  they  will  be  found  suitable  for  home  or  parlor 
theatricals.  The  use  of  this  attractive  little  work  will  enliven  the  dull  routine  of  juvenile 
instruction  with  a  charm  not  often  enjoyed  in  the  school-room. 

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Standard  Works  on  English  Composition. 

By  JOHN    M.  BONNELL,  D.  D. 

Z 

FIRST  LESSONS  IN  ENGLISH  COMPOSITION. 

Retail  Price  80  cents. 

This  little  book  is  designed  for  children  beginning  the  study  of  the  useful 
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Style  as  to  Diction,  Punctuation,  and  Letter-writing.  It  is  prepared  with 
great  care,  and  is  simple  and  elegant  in  style.  In  the  Appendix  is  a  valuable 
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The  popularity  and  general  use  of  the  Manual  of  the  Art  of  Prose 
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and  by  Teachers'  Associations  and  Conventions  every  where  throughout  the 
South  and  West.  It  is  well  bound  in  cloth,  and  handsomely  printed  from 
electrotype  plates,  and  contains  360  pages,  large  12mo. 

"  In  the  preparation  of  this  work  it  has  been  no  part  of  the  compiler's  aim 
to  be  original.  He  has  sought  rather  to  select  from  the  various  treatises  on  this 
subject  those  rules  and  exercises  which  have  been  approved  by  the  experience 
of  teachers,  and  to  combine  them  into  one  consistent  whole,  arranged  with 
reference  to  the  progressive  development  of  the  learner's  powers." — Extract 
from  the  Preface. 

It  is  a  capital  work  in  plan  and  execution,  and  worthy  of  introduction  into  our  best 
institutions  of  learning. — N.  Lawrence  Lindsley,  Lebanon,  Tenn. 

It  is  just  the  book  that  is  needed  in  our  schools.  It  is  admirable  for  its  copciseness,  its 
comprehensiveness,  the  accuracy  of  its  definitions,  and  the  appropriateness  of  its  examples. 
W.  Shelton,  Pres't  West  Tennessee' College. 

I  consider  it  an  admirable  compilation.  The  arrangement  of  the  whole  work  is  philo- 
sophical, and  the  chapters  on  Invention  and  Expression  are  very  complete. — Charles  Taylor, 
Preset  Kentucky  Wesleyan  University. 

A  treatise  well  calculated  to  serve  as  a  text-book  in  schools  and  colleges,  and  at  the  same 
time  just  such  a  guide  as  very  many  of  our  young  professional  and  business  men  greatly 
need. — F.  Berrien  Lindsley,  Cha'nccUor  University  of  Nashville. 

I  am  very  well  pleased  with  it.  The  plan  is  excellent,  and  I  think  the  execution  well 
sustained. — John  N.  Waddel,  LL.  D.,  Chancellor  University  of  Mississippi. 

I  have  long  wanted  just  such  a  help  in  the  school-room. — A.  L.  Hamilton,  Preset  Andrew 
Female  College,  Cuthhert,  Ga. 

It  is  decidedly  the  most  complete  and  exhaustive  treatise  that  I  have  seen. —  W.  H.  Stuart, 
ShdbyviUe,  Ky. 

JOHN  P.  MOKTON  &  CO.,  Publishers, 
LOUISVILLE,  KY. 


AMERICAN  STANDARD  SCHOOL  SERIES. 


SERIES  OF  MATHEMATICS 

BY    P.    A..    TOIVNE, 

Formerly  General  Princijml  of  Barton  Academy,  Mobile,  Ala. 


TOWNE'S  PRIMARY  ARITHMETIC.     ■ 
rOWNE'S  INTERMEDIATE  ARITHMETIC. 
TOWNE'S  MENTAL  ARITHMETIC. 
TOWNE'S  PRACTICAL  ARITHMETIC. 
KEY  TO  PRACTICAL  ARITHMETIC. 
TOWNE'S  ALGEBRA. 
KEY  TO  ALGEBRA. 


144  pages Price,  $0  3j 

21G  pages "  55 

176  pages "  40 

300  pages "  1  GO- 

21G  pages.  Cloth..  "  1  00 

290  pages.  Cloth..  «  1  25 

70  pages.  Cloth..  "  1  25 


Townk's  Pbimart  Arithmetic  contains  no  numbers  above  one  thousand.  All  formal 
definitions  are  exoluded,  and  yet  technical  terms  are  so  introduced  as  to  make  familiar  both 
tlie  words  and  their  exact  meaning. 

In  Towne's  Intxumediate  Arithmetic  no  Rule  is  given,  except  it  be  of  an  axiomatic 
nature,  until  by  nvmierous  synthetic  or  analytic  recitations  it  must  have  been  suggested  to 
the  mind  of  the  pupil.  An' entirely  new  feature  in  this  work  is  exemplified  in  the  Model 
Kecitatioms  found  on  almost  every  "page.  These  recitations,  properly  made,  force  the  pupil 
into  a  thorough  examination  of  every  step  in  his  progress. 

Towne"s  Mental  Arithmetic  is  not  intended  to  be  used  until  the  Primary  Arithmetic  has 
been  completed.  Its  study  may  then  be  carried  on  in  conjunction  with  the  Intermediate  and 
large  Practical  Arithmetics.  Its  solutions  are  believed  to  be  as  brief,  clear,  and  exact  as 
language  can  make  them,  and  will  prepare  a  pupil  of  ordinary  intelligence  to  master  any 
difficulty  in  the  larger  work.  The  author  has  undertaken  in  tliis  volume  to  limit  the  woril 
"  analysis  "  to  its  proper  signification  •  No  word  has  been  more  thoroughly  abused,  and  it  is 
hoped  that  this  book  will  aid  in  restoring  to  it  some  definiteness  of  meaning. 

Towne's  Practical  Arithmetic  contains  marked  improvements  upon  other  works  in 
arrangement  and  plan  of  treatment.  The  perusal  of  a  few  pages  will  reveal  to  the  practiced 
teaclier  the  important  features  which  distinguish  this  work  ;. and  it  is  a  matter  of  surprise 
that  they  have  not  been  hitherto  developed.  The  chapters  treating  of  Ratio  and  Propoution, 
Involution  and  Evolution,  are  particularly  worthy  of  note;  while,  for  the  sake  of  scientific 
accuracy,  as  well  as  for  the  early  insertion  of  problems  involving  questions  of  United  States 
vtoney, ' ilecimal  fractions  are  introduced  as  the  offspring  of  decimal  notation,  and  not  of 
"vulgar'"  fractions. 

The  Key  to  Towne's  Practical  Arithmetic,  prepared  by  the  author,  contains  not  only 
full  solutions  and  exhaustive  analyses  of  all  problems,  but  in"  it  the  author  has  exi)lained  the 
difgculties  of  the  text,  an<l  has  endeavored  to  aid  the  teacher  in  directing  the  pupil  how  to 
prepare  his  lessons  for  recitation. 

Towne's  Aloebra  occupied  the  author  ten  or  twelve  years  in  its  preparation,  and  every 
part  of  it,  before  publication,  was  repeatedly  tested  in  the  class-room.  Attention  is  invited  to 
tlie  accuracy  of  the  definitions;  to  the  brevity  and  clearness  of  the  demonstrations;  the 
explanation  of  positive  and  negative  quantities;  the  sulyect  of  factoring ;  the  approj)riateness 
and  careful  gradation  of  equations  and  other  problems ;  the  manner  in  which  the  transition 
from  the  reduction  of  equations  to  the  solution  of  problems  is  eflfected ;  the  constant 
recurrence  to  first  principles ;  the  treatment  of  quadratic  equations,  particularly  those 
involving  two  unknown  quantities;  the  subject  of  logarithms;  and,  finally,  to  the  practical 
tre.'itment  of  higher  Equations. 

Key  to  same  contains  full  solutions  of  all  Problems  and  Equations. 

K^This  new  and  philosophical  series  is  daily  gaining  in  favor.  Testimonials  from  the 
most  prominent  educators  throughout  the  coimtry  are  received  dailj',  showing  the  profound 
attention  exciterl  by  Towne's  Methods. 

Bf«r"Specimen  copies  for  examination,  with  reference  to  introduction,  will  be  sent  upon  the 
rccei])t  of  half  the  respective  retail  prices. 

JOHN  P.  MOETON  &  CO.,  Publishers, 
LOUISVILLE,  KY. 


AMERICAN  STANDARD  SCHOOL  SERIES. 


BUTLER'S  GOODRICH  READERS. 

Edited  by  NOBLE  BUTLER. 

BUTLER'S    GOODRICH    FIRST    READER.     72   pp. 

large  lOmo '. $0  20 

BUTLER'S    GOODRICH    SECOND    READER.      144 

pp.,  large  16nio .* 40 

BUTLER'S  GOODRICH  THIRD  READER.     216  pp., 

large  IGiiio 55 

BUTLER'S    GOODRICH    FOURTH    READER.     276 

pp.,  large  12mo 85 

BUTLER'S  GOODRICH  FIFTH  READER.     384  pp., 

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large  12mo 1  85 

This  series  of  Reailers  lias  attained  a  very  large  circulation  in  the  South  and  West.  All 
the  books  are  elegaiitlj'  illustrated,  and  are  believed  to  excel  in  the  arrangement  and  pro- 
gressive adaptability  of  the  lessons  to  the  growing  intelligence  of  the  pupil.  The  editor,  vi^ho 
IS  also  chiefly  the  author,'has  oom|ileted  thlee  books  of  his  new  series,  and  has  in  preparation 
the  higher  books.  The  progressive  arrangement  of  this  oldest  and  must  pDjiular  series  will 
be  closely  followed,  being  changed  only  where'  improvement  is  possible.  The  New  First, 
Second,  and  Third  School  Readers  are  jirogressive  with  the  Goodrich  Fourth,  Fifth,  and 
Sixth.    They  are  used  together  in  graded  schools  and* give  the  highest  satisfaction. 


THE  FIRST  PRINCIPLES  OF  GEOLOGY: 

PRESENTING   THE    SCIENCE    IN    ITS 

PHYSICAL   AND  MORAL   ASPECTS,   AND    EXHIBITING   ITS   APPLICATION   TO  THE 
ARTS  OF  MINING,  AGRICULTURE,  ARCHITECTURE,  AND  ENGINEERING. 

By  WM.  J.  BARBEE,  A,  M.,  M.  D., 

Member  of  the  American  Association  for  the  Promotion  of  Science. 

The  work  is  illustrated  with  engravings,  and  a  Geological  Map  of  the  United  States.  It  is 
divided  into  five  parts.  Part  I.  contains  an  Account  "of  the  Elements  of  the  Globe — their 
Combinations  to  form  Mineral  Substances;  and  presents  an  Exposition  of  Geological  Dy- 
namics. Part  //.—Classification  of  Rocks  ;  Description  of  the  Different  Formations.  Part  III. 
treats  of  the  Moral  Bearings  of  Geology.  Part  IV.  treats  of  Geographi<-al  Geology.  Part  V. 
exhibits  the  Application  of^  Geology  to  certain  useful  Arts.    525  pages.     Cloth.    Price,  81.75. 


NELSON'S  BOOK-KEEPING: 

ATEXT-BOOK  FOR  SCHOOLS  AND  COLLEGES. 
By  RICHARD  NELSON, 

PRESIDENT    OF    BUSINESS    COLLEGE,    CINCINNATI,    OHIO. 

Beautifully  printed  in  Colors,     Cloth.     120  pages,  8 vo.     Price,  $1.50. 

Written  by  one  familiar  with  the  best  systems  of  teaching  in  this  country  and  Euroiie,  a 
teacher  of  twenty-four  years'  experience,  a  prominent  member  of  the  International  Business- 
college  Association,  and  a  practical  business  man,  it  is  claimed  that  this  book  possesses 
mer/ts  of  a  high  order,  and  is  admirably  adapted  for  the  use  of  the  merchant  and  accountant 
as  well  as  for  the  school  and  college. 

JOHN  P.  MOETON  &  CO.,  Publishers. 


^'4'-- 


